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HELEN OF TROY, N. Y. 


BY THE SAME AUTHOR 

NINE POINTS 
OF THE LAW 


HELEN 

OF TROY, N. Y. 


By 

WILFRID S. JACKSON 


JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD 
NEW YORK & LONDON MCMIV 




Copyright, 1904 
By Johk Lane 


f L!Bf?ABY of CONGRBSS 
Two Copies rteceivea 

DEC 5 iW4 

^ Oopyrigni tntry 

cuss a.' XXc, tMoj 

f COPY a. 


First Edition, Nov., 1904 


Set up and Electrotypcd by 
The Husted Linotype Co., Cleveland, O., U. S. A. 
Printed by 

The Caxton Press, New York, U. S. A. 


CONTENTS 


chapter page 

I. DINNER AT THE INN I 

II. THE MEANS TO DO ILL DEEDS 2$ 

III. A STROLLING PLAYER 4I 

IV. ARBITRATION 6l 

V. ARMS 82 

VI. THE CLOAK OF NIGHT 101 

VII. WHEN THE WINE IS OUT II6 

VIII. A BLIND TRAIL 135 

IX. SOCK OR BUSKIN . I59 

X. AN UNDERSTUDY . . 183 

XI. A PROVINCIAL TOUR 202 

XII. A COMMAND PERFORMANCE 2 IQ 

XIII. A CURTAIN-LIFTER 244 

XIV. NOT IN THE BILL ........ 259 

XV. IN FRONT 

XVI. BEHIND • • » . 294 




HELEN OF TROT, N T. 


CHAPTER I 


DINNER AT THE INN 


T hroughout the great library at 
Lincoln’s Inn; round and about its 
bays and recesses; at the tables that 
line the nave ; overhead in the iron 
galleries that lift the insatiable student to the 
less accessible stores of learning; by bookstand 
and by shelf^ was the sound of a sober shutting 
of tomes and a rustle of gathered papers : and in 
the lobby the scuffling of the misappropriated 
umbrella, and on the staircases the echo of de- 
parting feet, indicated the approach of the din- 
ner hour. The sun setting in his ''wonted west” 
struck across the fields and through the high set 
oriel window, the book dust dancing in his broken 


I 


Helen of Troy, N. Y, 


ray?' -dust released that day perhaps from years 
of impiisonment in the volumes of some long 
defunct pundit and now to settle slowly, a visible 
oblivion, on some that but today were in the pride 
of use. 

Students in a pale heat of study frowned at the 
beams with dazed eyes, reminded of the outer 
world and of the inner man, and with sigh or sat- 
isfaction pocketing notebooks, and returning vol- 
umes to librarians with whispered colloquy, 
passed over the softly clanging gratings to the 
doors. An occasional reader lingered in places, 
perhaps long past his obligation to keep terms, or 
else one of those unready mortals whom the call 
of time always finds with a charged pen and a 
congested brain; within cry of a far-chased ref- 
erence ; or at best in the middle of the chapter. 

Of these an Oriental gentleman in a green 
turban, and a frock coat beginning, though East 
is East and West is West, to tone with it; and 
gold-rimmed spectacles surcharged with gold- 
rimmed pince-nez, was assimilating Blackstone 
against time^ his small brown hands commenting 
copiously on the numerous commentaries of Mr. 
Sergeant Stephen, his patient blurred eyes and 


2 


Dinner at the Inn 

indeed his head, following the text across and 
across the page. In a foreign land, in the adytum 
of an entrenched caste, contending myopically 
against an English not taught him in Calcutta, 
and a Latin not taught anywhere, he might have 
drawn tears of admiration from Bruce’s spider, 
the industrious ant, the busy bee, or other por- 
tentously patient insect analogue of himself. 

‘‘Like a blind nigger in a dark cellar looking 
for a black cat that isn’t there,” quoted Mr. 
Raggleston to himself as he sat looking at him, 
we fear with contempt, though he might have 
been better employed in view of the certain fact 
that unless he himself could assimilate those same 
Commentaries and a considerable tale of Equities, 
Torts, Easements, and what-not to boot, he 
would have to exert all his talents to live within 
the law instead of on it or by it. 

Decidedly his was not one of those charged 
and over-engaged intellects that cannot leave the 
pursuit of knowledge when the clock strikes. 

Still less, unhappily, his chance of joining that 
favoured and higher order to whom examina- 
tions are but memories, and whose golden leisure 


3 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

is spent at the Benchers’ tables over the Society’s 
port. 

Examinations had been the bane of Mr. Rag- 
gleston’s life. 

As a small boy under private tuition, before 
the attractions and distractions of school had 
opened the many alluring by-paths that diverge 
from the road to knowledge, he had passed into 
the Britannia. But he had never passed out. 
And with a passionate disappointment it was yet 
early years for him to feel but already too late to 
remedy, he had been forced to leave a company 
the prodigy and pick of human young, who must 
be, age for age, a full year ahead of any class of 
schoolboy in the kingdom, and as sound in wind 
and limb and eye and tooth as the untutored 
savage who has to catch his wild goat by the hair 
— and eat him afterwards. 

Four years at school on the modern side had 
passed all too quickly, and the second line of 
defence had come in view. But the thin red line 
had bristled with as many difficulties on the 
hither side as with bayonets on the outer, and 
again the "'small but well armed body of exam- 
iners” had repulsed the very poorly conceived 


4 


Dinner at the Inn 


assault of Mr. Raggleston and returned him 
upon the hands of an enraged parent. 

War breaking out, South Africa kindly took 
him over and in the course of the next couple of 
years campaigning gave him many hard and 
beneficial knocks ; but all good things come to an 
end, as his parent noted on the declaration of 
peace, and an enlightened knowledge of agricul- 
tural prospects at home next suggested to him 
that if his son couldn’t be anything else surely he 
could be a farmer. 

But there is always matrimony. And the pur- 
suit of an ineligible partie next engaging Mr. 
Raggleston’s attention, a family council decided 
that he would be as dear to them and dearer if 
lost to sight; and since the little study he had 
given to the home counties had convinced our 
friend that he could be at least equally unsuccess- 
ful anywhere else, he was shipped to California to 
grow oranges with about as much aptitude for 
the work and likelihood of making money as a 
Kanaka in Wall Street. 

Arrived in the land of the dollar. Jack’s 
ranch, as the innocents at home called it, had 
risen on his astonished gaze as a piece of dusty 


5 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

soil some hundred yards square, and his vague 
dreams of an Hesperides, a lotos-land where 
golden fruit bore down the laden boughs, had 
vanished in a wink. 

‘Tirst the bud and then the flower,’’ but there 
is something anterior to the bud when you are 
trying to raise the fruits of the earth, and that 
is the tree. Not seeing how he was to live while 
the trees were growing, Mr. Raggleston lost no 
time in selling his fruit-farm for a dollar in the 
hand for every pound from the parental pocket, 
and made tracks from a township where he was 
regarded as a “hobo;” and the successful store- 
keepers of the great democracy spat on the side- 
walk from their high swinging buggies. 

San Francisco naturally drew him. New 
friends and the remains of his patrimony intro- 
duced him to a minute share in a small trading 
venture and he was promoted part owner with 
some congenial spirits in as unseaworthy a 
schooner as ever was offered to the hungry seas. 

Her inevitable end, however, did not involve 
Mr. Raggleston, who was not born to be 
drowned; for, returning from a highly pleasur- 
able and entirely unsuccessful cruise in the 

6 


Dinner at the Inn 


Islands, he had read in an English paper that the 
star whose planetary attraction had drawn him 
into her sphere and then deflected his course to 
California, had at length come into collision with 
one or more of her satellites and that a brilliant 
meteoric combustion was promised for the com- 
ing season at home. Jack Raggleston’s chivalry 
was roused. For the first time he communicated 
his position to his father and therewith his instant 
duty and his needs. He was not kept waiting. A 
prompt and flat refusal of assistance came on the 
wings of the post. 

Hot-headed, obstinate, and enterprising enough 
when his passions were engaged, his flame, which 
had been dead for months, sprang up again to a 
quite respectable heat, and the ardent champion 
of beauty in distress shipped as a foremast hand 
on a Glasgow ship and arrived in England to find 
the cause celebre mere printed matter dead and 
filed, and the lady, with a greatly enhanced repu- 
tation, drawing a salary, and a following, on the 
boards, that made her not only independent, but 
even forgetful, of his devotion. 

Home again, in a blue jersey and sea boots and 
a bundle of kit under his arm, he had entered 


7 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

headlong his old club in St. James's and laid out 
the commissionaire who, disdaining words, had 
tried to eject him. 

Fortunately for the hall-porter, who was ad- 
vanced in years and girth, an old friend and 
schoolfellow had appeared in the nick^ attracted 
with other members by the shindy, and had guar- 
anteed the genuineness of the true British tar. 
Lord Billinghurst, some years his junior, had 
always been Raggleston's delighted admirer and 
follower, and now Raggleston's stained jumper 
and rubbers, and violent justification of himself, 
received his whole hearted approval. 

They had renewed their interrupted friendship. 
Lord Billinghurst had given him lodging and, 
after the inevitable ructions caused by Raggle- 
ston's home-coming, and the method of it, and the 
why of it, and he had been given a final chance 
before that deadly business of ‘"washing the 
hands of him", — a threat that always suggests 
the ne’er-do-weel going down the sink — he had 
been induced to do final battle against those who 
guard the portals of the professions and to read 
for the Bar with his friend. 

But it was a tame business. He had, indeed, 


Dinner at the Inn 


by this period a working conviction that laws 
were not made to be broken; but to study law 
for the law's sake seemed an unnecessary rub- 
bing in of the lesson. He could recognise the 
force of the shackles, but their forging and appli- 
cation did not challenge his admiration nor so 
far engage his attention. 

Mr. Raggleston sat and gloomed, his elbows 
squared on the table, his frowning brows bent 
on the enduring and unnecessarily ink-stained 
Oriental, who^ with a patient grief, was reckoning 
the ungathered pages of his author. But dinner 
was too imminent. Submitting himself to the 
endless race against Time that urges on the hag- 
ridden West, the student fell darkling from his 
dim pursuit and took his way to the unclean 
tables of the uncompromising Inn. Raggleston 
rose and followed. He could perform that part 
of his novitiate at any rate — he would do his duty 
as a trencher-man and show a misbelieving parent 
that he was not wholly ungrateful for his renewed 
opportunities. 

He crossed the terrace to the Hall and found 
one other belated diner struggling into his gown 
in the robing lobby. 


9 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

''Hullo, Bill,” said Raggleston, recognising his 
ally, "I thought you had finished your feasting 
for this term.” 

"I thought so, too,” replied his lordship, "but 
I never could count beyond five. My sister scores 
for me as a rule, but she is down in Sussex. 
Come on in, they’ve all got their nose-bags on.” 

Endued with their gowns they entered the Hall 
where one long table and half another were lined 
with students similarly draped, and grace was 
being said from' the upper end. 

They dropped into the last mess, their quar- 
tette made out by the Indian gentleman from the 
library and a typical young German with mous- 
tache on the Imperial pattern, a pink face, and 
eyes half sleepy, half surprised; who bowed his 
big body stiffly but courteously to the staring 
Raggleston ere he sat down. 

But Lord Billinghurst knew him and intro- 
duced his brother John Bull. Presently, under 
cover of the noise, he told Raggleston that Frei- 
herr von Deggendorf was attached to the Bava' 
rian Embassy. 

"They are next door to us in Arlington Street, 
and old Neucassel brought him in the other day, 


10 


Dinner at the Inn 

hearing that I was at Lincoln’s Inn, and asked me 
to show him the ropes. They’re not happy unless 
they’re grinding at something. He is destined 
for the Embassy, I imagine. His people have 
interests or connexions in England. So here’s 
a Dutchman to add to your Levanters, Raggles, 
my boy.” 

"'And yet I’m expected to get a living,” grum- 
bled Raggleston. ''We are ruined by German 
cheap labour. That darky’s binnacles may see 
him on another course, but hang me if I take 
the wash of a Dutchman. What are you going to 
drink. Bill?” 

The butler was waiting to supply the bottle of 
claret or port which the Society apportions to 
each mess. 

"At bottle among four of us. Heaven send no 
more of us. Ask your Deutscher.” 

But the German called for beer. Whatever he 
drank he must have enough of. The Indian 
possessed himself of the water-jug. 

Lord Billinghurst would have a glass of beer 
to show that there was no ill feeling, but as for 
dining — 

"How can you expect a chap to dine at six 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

when he has breakfasted at twelve and lunched at 
four?” he asked fretfully, and contented himself 
with signing the attendance-list. 

So it came about, unfortunately, that a bottle 
of the Society's excellent claret, appointed to af- 
ford two glasses apiece to four sober members of 
the Inn, fell to the sole throttle of Mr. Rag- 
gleston. The generous juice warmed his latent 
emotions and quickly cleared his spirits from the 
clogging weight of his studies. 

The Indian gentleman lent a gleaming attention 
to the windy discourse of the neighbouring mess 
— four of his kind spinning phrases from the text- 
books: a prefatory ‘‘notwithstanding your re- 
marks” or “it appears to my seeming” launching 
an inapposite string of words upon a cross-con- 
versation which, aiming at the abstract, wandered 
widely into the inane. 

Lord Billinghurst read the “Globe” folded in 
duodecimo upon his empty plate, and favoured 
his companions with comic extracts from its hu- 
morous reporters. But the fashionable intelli- 
gence yielded the news this evening. He nudged 
Raggleston suddenly. 

“I say, Jack,” he said, “Miss Heimer is in Lon- 


12 


Dinner at the Inn 


don again. Look here.’’ He showed his paper — 
*'Miss Helen B. Heimer, of Troy, N. Y., arrived 
at the Grosvenor today, and leaves tomorrow for 
Cowes.” 

Raggleston, with his mouth full, betrayed a 
lively interest. 

'Wonder when she’ll be in town again,” he 
said as soon as he could. "Be a pal. Bill, and 
leave her to me. You’ll get plenty more chances, 
but where am I to find another smiling heiress ?” 

"She smiled at you and not«on you, I expect. I 
like Miss Heimer myself. She’s a decent sort of 
girl and not bad looking considering her other 
million recommendations.” 

"A bit swarthy/’ said Raggleston reflectively. 

"No blacker than you are,” said his lordship 
genially. "You’d make a sweet couple.” 

"Just what I think,” replied Raggleston, calmly 
swigging his claret. 

"You be — sugared,” said Lord Billinghurst, 
pocketing his paper. "Besides, nemo plus juris'' 
— what is it ? ''ad alum — 

"Oh, shut up.” 

"Well, what would you say at the Apollo?” 

"That’s ancient history — I was young and fool- 


^3 


Helen of Troy, N, Y. 

ish, like you. After all, what can a fellow do, 
Billinghurst ? I shall never make anything of this 
business. I take no interest in it.” 

‘That’s where it is/’ said his confidant sagely ; 
^‘you ought to take an interest. It’s all rot you 
know, Raggles. You can do anything you want 
to do. You were keen, or at least you meant 
work, when you joined^ and you passed your 
Roman law easily enough. Anything you really 
intend — ” 

“Well, I intend to marry Miss Heimer. There 
you are. I’m provided for — ” 

He turned his bottle upside down over his 
glass. 

Lord Billinghurst had a generous belief in his 
friend’s ability to put through any scheme he set 
his hand to, and had, with perfect good nature, 
brought the impecunious Raggleston into ac- 
quaintance with Miss Heimer — an immensely rich 
German- American whom a family henchman, on 
a hint circuitous from headquarters, had brought 
across his own path. 

But by advantage of his associations he had, in 
spite of his juniority to Raggleston and lesser 
knowledge of the world geographical, a fairly 


14 


Dinner at the Inn 


solid grasp of certain principles of its wise men ; 
and though the word of advice he had thrown out 
was all he could well venture on, he already saw 
our friend Jack Raggleston coming heavily to the 
ground between the evasive stools ; and he shook 
his head. 

''She won’t look at you,” he said. 

Raggleston had opened his mouth to retort 
when the voice of the German struck across the 
table : 

"You speak of Miss Heimer,” he said in stiff 
accents. "Your pardon, I haf the friendship off 
Miss Heimer ; I haf nat heard her speak off mar- 
riage. If you speak off marriage and off Miss 
Heimer, of Troy, Julius von Deggendorf is — wie 
sagen Sie? — involved.” 

His hand confirmed the moustache in its ag- 
gressive angle and the rigidly vertical backbone 
and contracted eyes spoke volumes for his out- 
raged propriety and amour propre. 

Lord Billinghurst burst out laughing. The 
astonishment and resentment on Raggleston’s 
face was too much for him, sitting with poised 
glass, the words struck dumb on his lips. 

For one moment he half expected to see the 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


wine-glass dashed in the fearless old fashion 
across the table, but it came slowly to rest under 
the hand. 

^‘Ruined by German cheap labour/’ Billinghurst 
heard him murmur again as he himself cried out 
on the rival claimant: 

‘'Hang it all. Do you know Miss Heimer, von 
Deggendorf? I had no notion of that. You 
mustn’t be annoyed with us. Mr. Raggleston and 
I are great admirers of her — of hers. Do I 
understand that we are to congratulate you? 
Come and have some coffee in the Common Room 
and tell us all about it.” 

The German struggled to find his words or to 
make his mind clear on the subject, and took a 
glance round him. 

The delights of controversy had at length 
drawn his Indian neighbour into the folds of the 
inextricable anacolouthon (which the Foreign 
Office clerk not unreasonably regarded as a ser- 
pent). Grace was called before he could answer, 
and the students rose with a grinding of benches, 
von Deggendorf bowing a formal assent to Lord 
Billinghurst, and that young gentleman, doubled 


Dinner at the Inn 


with laughter at the incident, followed the broad 
back, stiff with combativeness, down the hall. 

'‘What did I tell you,’’ he chuckled, as they 
shed their gowns. "Nothing like a thorough 
knowledge of legal maxims.” 

"Prior claim be dashed,” growled Raggleston. 
"No Dutchman takes the wind out of my sails. 
I’d marry her now if she were a Hottentot and 
he were the "something” Kaiser. Pity we can’t 
put poison in his coffee. But we’ll pump him. 
Bill, and see how the land lies. We won’t have 
our prospects shattered without knowing the rea- 
son why.” 

"Not much, we won’t/’ agreed the ally, as they 
issued on the steps where the German awaited 
them in a cloak and soft black hat which put the 
finishing touch to Raggleston’s disgust. 

They crossed the gardens to the Common 
rooms, Billinghurst and the Freiherr bowing and 
backing ceremoniously at the swing-doors to the 
real edification of the hindered but never impa- 
tient Oriental, and von Deggendorf passing in 
first under protest, and his lordship hacking out 
at his friend’s shins to draw his appreciation, 
they entered and seated themselves on a big couch 

n 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


opposite one of the fireplaces ; Billinghurst in the 
middle still sustaining the conversation — ele- 
mental antipathy guiding the others to opposite 
ends. In an armchair at Raggleston’s corner sat 
an elderly member who had called in for a sherry 
and bitters on his way west. 

He turned a good-humoured countenance on 
Raggleston’s sulky one and made a temporary 
diversion by engaging him in talk. 

have known the Fraulein Heimer two, three 
years in Homburg,” von Deggendorf was saying. 
‘^She stay there of a summer with my cousine 
Baronin von Roder. I will go to visit the Frau- 
lein in the Insel Wright this week, where she stay 
with friends of Fiirst Neucassel, to whom I 
have the Einfuhrung. And your Herr Freund — 
he knows the Fraulein Heimer very well?’’ 

^'Oh, not as well as you do, I expect,” said Bil- 
linghurst, smiling. But the Freiherr did not 
smile at all. 

''It is bad to speak as does your Herr Freund 
— he is not a boy — Bei uns ” — he said — and said 
no more; but one hand sought the absent hilt 
while the other pointed the gesture with the 
menacing moustache. 


i8 


Dinner at the Inn 


Lord Billinghurst regarded him with a frank 
amusement. 'Tity they don’t fight under the 
same rules,” he thought. If it came to scrappin’ 
Jack would wipe the floor with him.” 

Raggleston’s neighbour had been putting ques- 
tions and eliciting much emphatic dogma on mat- 
ters military. 

^'Conscription — never,” said Raggleston decid- 
edly. "We give our services freely when re- 
quired.” He stopped shorty fearing the appear- 
ance of quoting his own ; for reference had been 
made at dinner to his service in the Yeomanry at 
the close of the South African war; the Freiherr 
had made interested enquiries and had received 
but short answers. 

The German’s uncompromising dislike and 
non-comprehension of the Anglo-Saxon individ- 
ualism did not show itself so crudely as the like 
patriotic bias in the Englishman, but was fully as 
strong. The code of etiquette, of stated conduct 
under stated conditions, the formulas of intro- 
duction and greeting, the express degrees of inti- 
mate intercourse with relative, friend, or ac- 
quaintance, the set phrases in minor circum- 
stances which bind all continental Europe and 


19 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

form a common elementary education, make 
every-day relations between foreigners a matter 
of A B C. 

The total want of any standard of manner 
or manners among ourselves, the impossibility of 
gauging or guessing the first move of the aver- 
age Englishman, of knowing what his civility 
or incivility may imply; of placing him accord- 
ing to his courtesies or want of them, his style 
or his neglect of it, makes a barrier round him 
deeper than the channel and accentuates his in- 
dependence ; and lends him a ruggedness and ec- 
centricity which is merely a defect in his national 
upbringing. 

Von Deggendorf appeared to our friend Rag- 
gleston as a poker-backed Dutchman in an un- 
forgiveable hat, and altogether too damned 
polite. Conscious of the antagonism between 
them he expected von Deggendorf to show what 
he himself was at no pains to conceal. 

To the German, Raggleston with his rude 
stare, his headlong carriage, and worn dittos, re- 
presented unschooled individualism at the 
rawest, and he ached to see him under a Prussian 
drill sergeant, driven, bullied, and moulded till 


20 


Dinner at the Inn 

he should have no soul to call his own and no 
instinct but obedience. 

And here was Lord Billinghurst, heir to a mar- 
quisate, ''ader too^ on his mother’s side, unlike 
so much of this half-blooded English aristocracy, 
consorting with Raggleston without check or 
reserve, and even obviously admiring him. 

Freiherr von Deggendorf fumed and won- 
dered, and the clay feet of the British Colossus 
stuck out largely visible. 

Raggleston had risen from his coifee and was 
standing against the empty grate, his big body 
resting on the mantel-piece, his hands thrust in 
his trouser-pockets half way to the elbows, an 
all-embracing yawn affording a fine view of his 
large and useful mouth. 

Freiherr von Deggendorf shivered with antag- 
onism and a shaft escaped involuntarily from 
the tense bow. 

'Treely, you say,” he said meaningly, ‘'you got 
five shillings a day — nicht wahr?” 

As a field officer at home he would have 
touched less. 

Under ordinary conditions this would have 


21 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

been an excellent joke, and Lord Billinghurst 
now threw up his legs and roared. 

'It was a fat thing for you, Jack,’' he cried. 
"You’ll never make it at the Bar.” 

But Raggleston had had the tail of his atten- 
tion on his foe and had caught the animus. He 
flushed a savage red and let himself go. 

"We were volunteers, remember. We don’t 
fight under compulsion; driven in by the police, 
like a gang of condemned convicts.” 

"Steady the Buffs !” remonstrated Billinghurst, 
sitting up and turning on the German a look in 
which a civil alarm struggled with the sporting 
instinct. 

There was room for both. The German looked 
as he felt — that he had received a blow in the 
face. 

The elderly barrister took his rosy countenance 
up the room. He was in the vein to talk but not 
to argue. 

For a minute none of them spoke. Raggleston 
was indifferent to the effect of his speech, Bil- 
linghurst curious to see the upshot, while von 
Deggendorf struggled with more than one ob- 
stacle to utterance. Mortally angry at the insult 


22 


Dinner at the Inn 


to his cloth, the Kaiser's uniform, he was angry 
with himself for having drawn it, and now, under 
the influence of sudden indignation and the need 
of pungent and direct speaking^ he was forced 
into acquaintance with the difficulty of conduct- 
ing a row in a foreign tongue with any justice to 
oneself. 

The Muttersprache would not at once be re- 
fused and his first natural words meeting with 
the uncovert smile of the country, his national 
excitability was scarcely to be governed. 

Whence came the legend of German phlegm? 
Or do the nations alter? Freiherr von Deggen- 
dorf rose to his feet, his face suffused, his head 
erect, each individual hair charged and bristling, 
and clicking his heels together bowed some three 
inches from the vertical towards a point over 
Lord^Billinghurst's head. 

‘T wish you goot evening. Lord Billinghurst," 
he said. ''For your frient" — he struggled again 
for words, but Lord Billinghurst broke in — 

"Don't go off like that, von Deggendorf," he 
said, taking him unceremoniously by the coat- 
tail in way of persuasion. "It's only Raggles- 
ton's pretty way of talking. We'll clear out of 


23 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

here if you like, but let’s go to Arlington Street. 
I want to hear some more about Miss Heimer.” 

The clutch at his tails did not tend to smooth 
the Freiherr’s ruffled plumes, and he nearly 
vented a splutter of wrath. But he behaved 
nobly. He detached his coat from the over- 
familiar hand and moved to the door. 

The 'Trient’s” attitude had not changed except 
that his mouth instead of being widely opened 
was now very closely shut. 

Lord Billinghurst was sprawled across the 
couch, his hand still extended after the retiring 
Freiherr. 

''Wenn — if you go to Arlington Street, per- 
haps we meet later.” The swing-door banged 
behind him, and the two were left facing one an- 
other. 


H 


CHAPTER II 


THE MEANS TO DO ILL DEEDS 


L 


ORD BILLINGHURST looked comic- 
ally at his ally. 

“You have annoyed him, Jack. You 
shouldn't have said that." 

Confound it! You heard what he said to 


me. 


“Do you think he meant to be nasty?" 

“I know he did," said Raggleston, shoulder- 
ing himself off the mantel-piece. “I saw it com- 
ing. They think us mercenaries, those fellows." 

“Save us from all foreigners," said his lord- 
ship piously. “But I say," he continued, “this is 
serious about Miss Heimer. He's making the 
running — has been for long enough — and he is 
off to the Isle of Wight after her tomorrow unless 
we can stop him." 


25 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

'‘He doesn’t seem to have got very far in spite 
of his start; but I fear we shan’t get any more 
information from that stable. Did he say he’d 
come round to you later?” 

"He may have meant the Embassy, but per- 
haps he’s coming after you, Jack, with an armed 
band of German waiters. Good business he 
hadn’t his sticker on just now. He would have 
carved us unfortunate civilians.” 

"Kind of soft job they rejoice in. But I would 
fight the beggar any day. I often go to Macpher- 
son’s rooms and have a bout. You’ve never seen 
me at the foils.” 

"Must be a picture of beauty and grace,” re- 
plied his friend, "but you won’t be able to exhibit 
it on behalf of Miss Heimer. Let’s get a move 
on. I must have some supper before the even- 
ing’s out.” 

"I don’t mind having a drink with you,” said 
Raggleston. 

"Your unparalleled kindness is only exceeaed 
by your extraordinary capacity — come on.” 

And with that, the Englishman’s word of in- 
troduction to all forms of activity, they left the 
room. 


26 


The Means to do III Deeds 


It was Trinity term and full summer. The 
moon was coming up over the tree-tops of Lin- 
coln’s Inn fields and the green sward of the Inn’s 
intra-mural spaces showed silvery against the 
heavy black shadows of the hall and library. 

On such a night even the beadle’s little sentry- 
box becomes a haunt of ancient peace, and that 
watcher by the crossways for the erring feet of 
the unlegal, can take the air by the immemorial 
lawns and reflect pharisaically on the public com- 
mons further west where the contact of poor 
humanity lends its savour to the very turf. 

The two young men walked along the Strand, 
by the leagues of light and the roaring of the 
wheels, and crossing Trafalgar Square sought 
a grill-room where Lord Billinghurst made shift 
to supply the place of dinner which had been 
crowded out of his too busy day^ and Raggleston 
revived the embers of the claret. 

It was past ten when they issued upon Pic- 
cadilly — an off hour in that vicinity. 

Droves of unoccupied hansoms jingled along- 
side at a foot pace, or stood in endless row along 
the narrow thoroughfare, their striped roof-awn- 
ings, and cushions in summer suits of brown hol- 


^7 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

land, offering allurement irrespective of destina- 
tion ; but our friends, pleased with their own vir- 
tue, walked soberly to the portals of Horsham 
House, whose court-yard lends retirement to the 
mansion, itself some hundred yards withdrawn 
from the gut of Piccadilly, that ever gurgling 
bottle-neck of the champagne of society. Its 
portico and porter's lodge, seen through railings 
of Sussex iron, face the street; its familiar side 
and too modern inhabitants it turns to the rustic 
obscurity of the Green Park. 

The gathered blinds were drawn over the long 
windows, though not in particular acquiescence 
with the return of night, for Horsham House 
mostly shuts its eyes in the daytime, season or no 
season ; but when a wing of the folding-doors had 
opened to them and they had crossed the dim 
hall supported on yellow marble columns inter- 
spaced with shrouded statuary — the Horsham 
marbles of the third Earl — and the footman had 
hung their hats on a grain-painted hat-stand con- 
tributed by the present Marquis, they found the 
back of the mansion awake and habitable; that 
wile of the penurious in uttermost Suburbia, 
which assumes a holiday in season if it have it 

28 


f 


The Means to do III Deeds 


not, being well known, with a difference, to the 
poor of Belgravia, whence indeed it very likely 
sprang, along with other fashions and prejudices. 

In the long library, which bore signs of being 
used for many purposes, books reared their gold 
and brown from floor to frieze ; busts of departed 
statesmen a-top neatly marking off the tall cases 
which stood all round the room, only interrupted 
in their serviceable duty of supplanting a century 
of paint and paper, by the long windows starting 
from low window-seats and going up to the ceil- 
ing, and an immense chimney-piece in coloured 
marbles with heavy clusters of the eternal acan- 
thus and vine collecting the London dirt and 
keeping it safe in deep crevices, inexpugnable by 
charwomen. 

The Marquis's desk and chair, both piled with 
papers, shut out of sight full five hundred of the 
classics at the far end of the room. The English 
historians and a wilderness of 18th-century es- 
sayists were totally effaced by an unrolled estate 
map falling within a yard of the floor; at the 
fireplace end, and on the window side whence 
could be caught the quiver and gleam of the Pic- 
cadilly lamps, stood a small work-table in mar- 


29 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

quetry and a cushioned Hamlet stool piled with 
volumes of recent birth — among so much bar- 
riered aristocracy the garish interlopers of a 
day. 

Lord Billinghurst called for refreshments as in 
duty bound and rummaged for cigars, while Rag- 
gleston inspected the bookcases with no resent- 
ment whatever at their brass-wire fencing. 

Moving round the room he espied on high over 
the fireplace, on the exiguous space afforded^ a 
pair of rapiers. 

'"What are those foils?” he asked. 

‘They’re not foils,” replied Billinghurst, re- 
turning with a cigar in his mouth and proffering 
another. ‘They’re the real thing — duelling 
swords.” 

“The epee de combat, eh? Ever been used?” 

“Rather. There’s a story about them. Gallant 
ancestor of mine — rather like you in disposition, 
I should imagine, who fancied himself at the 
small sword, picked a quarrel with a hapless 
stranger in the Green Park. A little knowledge 
of fencing was much the same as a little know- 
ledge of boxing now. Makes a chap stand too 
stiffly to his rights. He never allows for the 


30 


The Means to do III Deeds 


casual stranger having any science and thinks 
he’ll instruct him. It came off on this occasion 
though. They called in two passersby as seconds, 
to hold their coats, don’t you know, and went at 
it, and my lusty progenitor downed his man and 
came galumphing back.” 

'"How did he get the other man’s sword?’’’ 
asked Raggleston, who, mounted on a chair, was 
detaching both weapons from their nails. 

‘Took his purse, too, I shouldn’t wonder,” re- 
plied the ungenerous descendant. “No. As a 
matter of fact t’other man recovered, and they 
swore an eternal friendship. He was what they 
called a soldier of Fortune, which means that you 
fight for the pickings and not for the principle. 
He never left my silly old forbear until they’d 
emptied the cellar between them and eaten most 
of the estate.” 

“And one day he left his sword in the umbrella 
stand, I suppose,” said Raggleston, delivering 
passes at the bookcase, a blade in either hand. 
“They’re beautifully balanced. Rather small in 
the grip for me though.” His point on the floor 
he bent the slender steel which sprang strongly 
from arc to arc under the pressure and threw 


31 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

the light exultingly from side to hilt as he poised 
it, fore-shortened, towards the lamp. '‘Wonder 
what it feels like to pink a man with the button 
off.’’ He stepped out into the middle of the 
room, clear of obstacles, and delivered at the door 
with great action. 

"Over reach,” said Billinghurst through his 
cigar. Raggleston recovered in denial, the door 
opened, and the footman announced: 

"Freiherr von Deggendorf.” 

Lord Billinghurst gave a short laugh and re- 
moving his cigar advanced to meet him, while 
Raggelston moved up the room whistling low and 
swinging his blade. 

The Freiherr had changed into evening clothes 
and recovered his equanimity in the process but 
he had not expected to find Raggleston at Hor- 
sham House and now paused in the doorway 
under an evident shock of returning emotion at 
the sight of the highly irregular trooper, steel in 
hand; and his glance followed him up the room 
instead of meeting Lord Billinghurst, who came 
forward to welcome him. He had schooled him- 
self in the interval to fall in with the English 
neglect of rough speaking, but the sound of the 


32 


The Means to do III Deeds 

swords chimed with the fighting instinct still 
ringing distantly from the mannerless jostle at 
the Inn; and it leapt to meet what came upon 
him as an unlooked for compliance with his na- 
tive idea. 

But he turned to Lord Billinghurst and taking 
his hand^ delivered his prepared civilities. 

‘Tomorrow I go, as I tell you, to the Isle of 
Wight. I return after one week to complete my 
dinners. So I would say goodbye for the present, 
and ask you please haf I right to do this?” 

“It's all right about the term,” answered his 
cicerone, leading him towards the glasses and 
cigars set out by the fireplace. “You have a fort- 
night yet; but it's all wrong about the lady. 
What's to become of my love's young dream, 
Raggleston's golden fancies, and all the rest of 
it?” 

Raggleston had joined them, but the German 
ignored his presence, as he ignored Billinghurst's 
pleasantries. 

“I thank you for your so kind information,” he 
said. “I shall hope to see you on my return.” 

“And then it'll be all over but the shouting, 

33 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

what?” said Lord Billinghurst, grinning at the 
third claimant. 

Mr. Raggleston had laid his sword to rest, 
and, his hands in his pockets, now' winked at his 
aflied rival. 

*Xet’s go to Cowes, Bill, and do a little yacht- 
mg. 

The German rounded on him in a flash. 

'‘Do not gif yourself the trouble,” he said ; 'T 
can gif Miss Heimer your sentiments and safe 
you the journey.” He made the reference too 
obvious. 

"By Jove, that’s not playing the game, von 
Deggendorf!” exclaimed Billinghurst, shocked. 

"If you repeat what you had no business to 
hear,” said Raggleston, regarding his cigar, I 
would impress upon you — ” 

"Das geht nicht,” shouted the German furious- 
ly, starting back. "You say in public before 
me — ” 

"Good Lord!” said Billinghurst, impatiently, 
"it was only a joke.” 

"And never mind what I said,” pursued Rag- 
gleston, lower ingly. "If you repeat it, my friend, 
there’ll be trouble.” 


34 


The Means to do III Deeds 


The German looked at him with contempt. 

‘T shall warn Miss Heimer that she does not 
well in receiving your acquaintance ; and to you, 
Lord Billinghurst, I must say the same.’' 

'"You’re too good/’ said Billinghurst, drily, but 
Raggleston put his cigar down on the table care- 
fully. 

"With your permission, Billinghurst, I am 
going to kick this chap,” he said, and made one 
stride of it on the German, but Billinghurst was 
too quick for him and cast himself between 
them. 

"Shut up,” he said angrily. "You can’t fight 
here.” 

*'Das schickt sich nichtr shouted the Freiherr, 
enraged beyond all control. "You will satisfy 
me. You have carried arms. You can fight ; 
here are swords.” 

"Damn it, no !” laughed Lord Billinghurst, an- 
grily, holding him back. "You’re not in Ger- 
many.” 

''Das ist es geradeT exclaimed the maddened 
German, waving his arms wildly and beyond 
translation of his utterances. "In England it is 
police affair. I must take the insult. I must take 


35 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

the blow. Stehen Sie auf! Take a sword, and 
I will kill you ; mein Herr Raggleston. Sie sind 
ein gemeiner Kerl, Ein Feiglingr 

*Tt’s got to come^ Bill,” said Raggleston, calm- 
ly. 'T fight that chap somehow before he leaves 
the room. And it’s only fair that he should have 
his chance, seeing that there are the proper arti- 
cles on hand.” 

He crossed the long room, setting back a chair 
against the presses and picking up some fallen 
papers. The rapiers were lying on one of the 
half-way ledges of the bookcase beyond the door. 
He picked them up, and came back down the 
room with them ringing together in one hand. 

"'Don’t be a lunatic, Raggles,” protested Bil- 
linghurst. "I never saw such a jackass as you 
are when you get any liquor in you. Give them 
here.” 

But Raggleston avoided him, and gravely prof- 
fered the hilts to the Freiherr, who took one 
with alacrity and began, feeling familiar ground, 
to show to greater advantage ; and Lord Billing- 
hurst, always under the influence of his friend in 
the last event, and powerless with the German, 
felt his hold on the quarrel weakening and began 

36 


The Means to do III Deeds 


to fear mischief. But he stood between the points 
though the German was flinging off his cloak not 
to be backward in the encounter, and Raggles- 
ton's hand was running up his waistcoat buttons, 
his mouth showing the obstinate set that Billing- 
hurst knew only too well. 

“Lord Billinghurst, you will be my second?” 
inquired the Baron courteously, but as taking it 
for granted. 

“But Raggleston can’t fight without a second,” 
objected Lord Billinghurst, catching at the dif- 
ficulty. 

“Never mind me. I’ll make a hole in him 
with no one to help me,” said Raggleston, with 
Britannic assurance and broad disregard of the 
courtesies of the field. 

“Mind you don’t get one drilled in your own 
carcass,” replied Billinghurst, vexed and unde- 
cided. “They’re not foils, you know. For God’s 
sake, don’t be an ass. Jack!” 

“Herr Raggleston should have a second,” af- 
firmed von Deggendorf, collected again under 
the touch of the old harness. 

“Then you can’t fight,” said Billinghurst de- 
cidedly, “besides — ” 


37 ! 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


"'I have it/’ said Raggleston, ‘'the passer-by 
again — and likely as not he’ll be a German now- 
adays.” 

"Do you think it rains lunatics in Arlington 
Street?” asked Billinghurst ; but the notion held 
a good prospect of interruption, if not of inter- 
ference. He might hale in some decent looking 
Johnny, he thought, and make this foolishness 
impossible. The humour of the thing took him 
too. To accost some sober stranger passing the 
portals with a request couched in the stateliest 
terms that he should enter and arbitrate upon 
a point of honour which was threatening instant 
bloodshed. 

The hour was late ; the theatres should be out ; 
and it was not far outside probabilities that he 
should come upon some man he knew walking 
between his clubs on a summer night in the 
season. 

"I will endeavor to get you a second, Herr 
von Deggendorf,” he said, beginning to feel his 
part. "If you and Mr. Raggleston will drop 
your swords and accompany me to the court- 
yard I may find a gentleman who will be dis- 
posed to help us in this very pretty quarrel.” 

38 


The Means to do III Deeds 


The German bowed acquiescence, doubting 
nothing, and Lord Billinghurst, paying no heed 
to Raggleston’s ''Better have the butler in,’' led 
across the hall and down the steps to the side 
gateway which stood open by the untenanted 
porter’s lodge. 

Leaving the other two behind him standing 
sulkily aloof from each other in the shadowed 
courtyard, the young nobleman stepped on to 
the pavement of the street, laughing and swear- 
ing under his breath, and stood bare-headed in 
the warm night. 

The street was empty of foot-passengers, but 
towards its issue upon Piccadilly, whence the 
lights and stamping of the traffic disturbed its 
backwaters, a crawling hansom reined in and 
turned with a clatter and bore down upon him 
with waving whip and rocking lights, expectant 
of a fare. 

He shook his head and waved the man past, 
who turned disappointed down Bennett street, 
but as the red lights dropped away at a jingling 
walk a footfall came from the St. James’s Street 
end of the short turning, and a young man pres- 
ently emerged upon Arlington Street, walking at 


39 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

a measured pace, hat in hand, as taking advan- 
tage of the short interval of obscurity to enjoy 
the night, while under his long open covert coat 
his shirt-fronted bosom also met the cool air. He 
was tall and slight and clean-shaven, with a well 
marked nose, and his look met Lord Billing- 
hurst’s searching and curious scrutiny with well 
bred impassivity. 

‘'Now, if I can strike the right note I believe 
I shall get the response,” was his lordship’s 
thought. “Here goes !” he said, half aloud, and 
stepped into the lamplight. 


40 


CHAPTER III. 


A STROLLING PLAYER 


A CROWDED train slackened its steady 
rush alongside the platform of Sur- 
wood station, its roaring breath pant- 
ing against the glass span, and the 
long expectant crowd, as if drawn into its swirl, 
surged and stumbled in the direction of its pas- 
sage. Divided parties hanging on to different 
door handles uttered loud rallying cries and im- 
mediately forsook their hold for the loudly ad- 
vertised openings discovered simultaneously by 
the opposite factions, while individual travellers 
of single and selfish intention slipped into the 
vacancies. Carriages, voiding their contents, 
shot out nimble clerks from bursten doors, then 
families following thick in strings, and finally 
exuded their dregs, dragging slow with bags and 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

parcels, through the inrush of the new freight. 
‘'Victoria train,’’ shouted the guards, “third class 
forward — ^plenty of room in front, ma’am,” and 
the porters’ juggernaut trollies rumbled through 
all resistance. 

Backing against the closed bookstall, close to 
a tall young man who was fending off the shoul- 
dering crowd, stood Miss Mary Vane. As tall 
as her companion, upright, rosy and resolute, in 
a big black hat and a caped cloak with inside 
pockets in which her hands were thrust, she eyed 
the tumult with the good humoured toleration of 
the self-reliant, or at least of the disinterested. 
Her neighbor, too, showed no sign of traveling 
fever, his features being unmarked by worry, or, 
more singularly, considering his years, by vacuity 
or boredom. His detachment of expression was to 
be noticed when he looked at the quite imposing 
young lady by his side, for though admiration 
was not absent, it was the dispassionate admira- 
tion that knows perfection still to seek. A work- 
ing man with an interminable family at length 
emptied a carriage opposite the bookstall, gently 
urging and lifting all sizes of children to the 
platform with cautious “mind ’ow you fall,” or 


42 


A Strolling Player 

‘'don’t lose mother” ; and Miss Vane nodded her 
big hat at the vacant compartment. 

“Well, Mr. Arden, you had better get your 
seat,” she said, “or you will be left out in the 
cold.” Arden moved towards the open door and 
let down the window. 

“Good-night, Miss Vane,” he said, shaking 
hands; “but why in the world you should see 
me off I don’t know. It is a most improper re- 
versal of things.” 

She laughed and shut the door upon him. 

“I live across the road, you see, and we actors 
and actresses,” they both laughed, “are not like 
other people. Dress rehearsal next Tuesday, 
don’t forget. Good night, Mr. Arden. My love 
to your sister.” 

The train moved off; Arden, standing at the 
window, acknowledging a wave of the hand from 
the unfettered Miss Vane ere she turned her 
straight young back. A brick wall twelve inches 
away next appearing, he sat down and consulted 
a pocket time-table. The train promised to fulfill 
its obligations at 10:37, with all the ridiculous 
particularity of an untrustworthy debtor. “Say a 
quarter to eleven,” he reflected, “I dare say I 


43 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

shall have time to make a cast round by the 
club/’ He lit a cigarette, screwed it into a 
holder, and sat back enjoying with half closed 
eyes the strong breeze through the window, and, 
taking stoically the bombardment of small cin- 
ders, abandoned his mind to the events of the 
evening and, incidentally^ to Miss Vane. 

Paul Arden was arrived at that point in his 
young fortunes when the cold advice of elders 
urges the doing of a categorical something; but 
when the ungathered and undirected springs of 
individualism greatly prefer the vague nothing. 
Which, unsatisfying as even he could feel it to be, 
is at least uncommitted to the wrong path. 
Choose; choose quickly; said the holders of the 
purse-strings ; and be grateful that choice is open 
to you. And they held out the short, dry lists 
of the professions or the small squared pigeon- 
holes of business. ‘'Ah ! let me wait a little !” he 
would have cried. “Must our lives depend on 
these things?” The subjective temperament, so 
slow to shape itself into character, was in him 
not long freed from boyhood, and he was loth 
to abandon his new found liberty of dreams. He 
had been glad to leave the grub stage only enjoya- 

44 


A Strolling Player 

ble by the unconscious grub, and after some years 
of almost butterfly existence, initiated by an ill- 
ness, was still disinclined to adopt the ways of 
more industrious creatures. His sister’s fondness 
working upon his father’s indulgence had hither- 
to tided over the occasions of threatened coer- 
cion, and during his father’s long absences in 
America, where his business branch took him 
for half the year, he appreciated very fully the 
forbearance he found so regrettably marred by 
hard words when the head of the publishing 
house of Arden and Arden was established in 
home quarters. 

Paul, a fastidious and fantastic person, of fine 
feeling though unemotional, with wide sympa- 
thy though with little cameraderie, made his sis- 
ter his chief friend^ and if as confidante she could 
not go all the way, his reticence was but due to 
the wiser pruning or more regular growth of her 
less rambling fancy. 

Not easily ruffled, he was patient of his father’s 
impatience and amenable in manner to his sister’s 
remonstrances, though truly they were much 
softened in the echo. 


45 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


‘Taul is always open to argument/’ had plead- 
ed his sister on one occasion to Mr. Arden. 

''What we are considering, my dear Daisy,” 
Mr. Arden had replied, "is what is open to Paul. 
At present a good offer. Eventually, I fear, the 
street.” 

Then Daisy would try her hand on her brother. 

"Father says that when he was your age — ” 

"My dear Daisy, I cannot possibly allow that 
my father knew better than I when he was my 
age. Unless each generation advanced in wis- 
dom we should still be trephining with stone 
axes.” 

"When you’re as old as father you’ll know 
better—” 

"Yes. Better than father.” 

"I do not mean that — ” 

"No. Nor does he. But it is true. The wis- 
dom of the ancients, my dear Daisy,” Paul would 
inform his sister across the tea table, "was but 
the folly of the children. They lived when the 
world was young. There was no experience to 
draw on. They had to make it. We are thou- 
sands of years older and ever so much wiser.” 

"But, my dear boy, how are you going to live? 

46 


A Strolling Player 

Perhaps you know that^ since you are so wise. 
You know what father wrote from Boston last 
time? I would spare you the unpleasant re- 
minder — ’’ 

''I have seen his name on documents I liked 
better/’ said the son without resentment, ''but 
how unselfish you are. Whom would you lean 
on and I away? You would lop off the limb on 
which you sit.” 

"Sit on you ? I wish I could ; you — limb.” 

"Daisy, where do you learn such language ? I 
am sure you don’t get it from me — ” 

And the lecture would end with a laugh. Al- 
though she stood between father and son, she had 
no intention, as she ofttimes remarked, of being 
a mere buffer. Paul deprecated the expression 
and took her reproofs in excellent part. He was 
the best of brothers and Daisy was always ready 
to acknowledge it, but she need not have ac- 
knowledged it to him. He knew it. And if Mr. 
Arden were away the brother and sister would 
continue to live their life, Daisy, sole mistress 
of the household since her fourteenth year, man- 
aging with a practised hand, and receiving with 
imperturbed grace those who came on the foot- 


47 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

ing of friends and those who had the advantage 
of relationship. But Paul fought shy of some 
of his kin. No one can be born into an intimacy, 
he would say, and aunts of a zealous affection 
would inquire for him in vain. But when Daisy 
wanted conduct to party or park she could rely 
on her man. 

Among a thousand acquaintanceships scraped 
in queerly assorted book companies had been 
that of Lord Chesterfield; and not suspecting 
perhaps his sister's exercise of a kindred but 
transformed tutelage, he had tried eagerly and 
amusedly to ape the ideal of that philosophy; 
finding in the practice of social artificialities the 
pleasure of an actor studying postures^ and a 
satisfaction in the results which had been denied 
him had a less fanciful aptitude imbued the les- 
sons with a seriousness to overweight them. 

Daisy was proud of her brother's progress, 
perhaps justly, as we have hinted, but fortunately 
for his good conceit of himself, a baneful weed 
but useful in small quantities, he attributed it 
to his own efforts. He and his sister did not 
lack invitations, though the doors of the big 
house in Collingham Gardens since Mr, Arden’s 
48 


A Strolling Player 

widowhood, and of late years by reason of his 
long absences from England, were not often 
thrown wide. 

On a hot night in the season, when the quick- 
ened pulses of the town could be felt to its far 
west, they would sit on the awned balcony of 
Daisy’s room, Paul smoking cigarettes and quot- 
ing all the scamps in literature from Autolycus 
to Harold Skimpole as he paraded his notions 
on life out of office, Daisy lending half her atten- 
tion to the outer commotion and overflow of some 
party near at hand. Next door perhaps an awn- 
ing ran down to the pavement’s edge, and the 
shining tops of footmen’s hats dodged in its 
shelter, moving outwards when a gathered train 
or lace-covered head slipped from a halted car- 
riage. Voices came up on the night, and the 
sharp slam of carriage doors^ and the jingling of 
bit and harness as horses pacing or standing 
under the gaslamps tossed their impatient heads. 
The rhythm of a string band beat stirringly and 
low over the gardens. 

^‘When I have a house of my own — ” 

‘'You have a house of your own.” 


49 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

‘‘Well, in a way. And a family, too, as long 
as I have you on my hands.’’ 

“What do you propose to do with me?” 

“I don’t know. You are very difficult. I can’t 
marry you off when you have no prospects.” 

“But you are a simply wretched matchmaker. 
You must find me matrimonial prospects.” 

“If ever you marry for money, Paul, I — I — 
won’t call on you.” 

“And if I marry a girl without any, our only 
caller will be the tax collector. No. You may 
marry if you like, but I think you could hardly 
be better off.” 

“And my house would be another caravanserai 
for you.” 

“Well, of course, he would be a friend of mine. 
All good sisters marry their brothers’ friends.” 

“Then you had better make some. Yours are 
impossible.” 

“I’ll find you a husband in my own good time. 
I don’t want you married just yet.” 

“Mary Vane would make a good man, 
though — 

“Daisy ! You envy her her inches.” 

Miss Arden stretched a scornful neck. 


50 


A Strolling Player 

want to play while Fm young and can/’ 
pursued Paul. ''I must be out in the morning. 
I can’t wait till evening. I want to live.” 

'‘But you don’t live. You only look on.” 

"That’s the way to see the game. The stalls 
are the best part of a playhouse.” 

"Then why are you acting with the Vanes?” 

"You are so literal, Daisy. Of the amateur 
stage I am too tender-hearted to be a spectator. 
Act there — ruthlessly — or avoid the spot. No, 
girl! I speak of a Larger Stage.” 

"You had better listen to this waltz.” 

"The glamour of the stage, that green sick- 
ness of girls, has its larger counterpart. What 
drives the youth of nations to struggle in the 
wake of its public men? To ape Parliament in 
debating societies? To take commissions in the 
militia? To hold receptions in Earl’s Court?” 
He waved his cigarette towards the canopied 
footway below. "The rankest amateurism. They 
are stage-struck. I don’t fall into the vulgar 
error and uselessly decry that living process 
called snobbery. That is an inevitable and bene- 
ficial factor in evolution. There is no standing 
still in the social state. But all these good peo- 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

pie voluntarily supering and mobbing the stage- 
doors of society are but theatrical aspirants like 
those whose portraits fill papers to distract one’s 
pained attention in a dentist’s waiting-room. For 
me, a philosopher^ my dear Daisy, the desire for 
‘a clear stage and a crowd to see’ is merely an 
actor’s vanity.” 

''And what has all this to do with bread and 
butter?” 

"Go on cutting it, my dear Daisy, like a well- 
conducted person.” 

And as things stood Daisy went on cutting it, 
Mr. Arden providing it, and Paul eating it. And 
jam therewith when he could get it. For even 
theories have to be fed, though Mr. Arden might 
well have replied that he did not see the neces- 
sity. 

A love of adventure and of the shifting scene 
outstripped the prosaic preliminaries of the most 
active career, as his passion for acting a part 
transcended the sordid actualities and properties 
of the boards, and made him deplore the con* 
finement of so fine an art to the narrow bounds 
of a theatre. Though one thing needful he found 

52 


A Strolling Player 

on the mimic stage, and that was the disguise — 
the outer man of his assumption. 

Not caring a button for his audience, he acted 
to his company, and was never known to say that 
it would be all right on the night. So he shone 
among amateurs, and in the present month of 
grace, through the eyeglass and behind the 
moustache of Lord Beauclerk in the ‘^Triple 
Thread'’ he had weakened the defences of Miss 
Molly Vane, all too thinly disguised in mere 
milkmaid costume, with wig like Ossa piled, 
and colour in wasteful and ridiculous excess. 
Miss Molly Vane still she was unconscientiously, 
but unconscious of her rival the milkmaid, and all 
too susceptible of the admirably delivered blan- 
dishments of Lord Beauclerk, who had no exist- 
ence in her sphere of being: a mere two-dimen- 
sional thing, as any onlooker could have told her 
— an animated picture framed in a proscenium. 
Whereas, Lord Beauclerk, artistically impatient 
of the too frequent obstrusion of Miss Vane, with 
difficulty wooed and followed a deficient ab- 
straction with the name and little else of Dolly 
Dimples. 

The Surwood theatricals were in active orepa- 

53 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


ration, the centre of activities, pending produc- 
tion, being the Vanes’ house. The performance 
itself was not too imminent, being in fact a fort- 
night off, but Paul had insisted on early rehear- 
sals in force. This was Monday night. Paul, as 
he sat in the train, with the brim of his hat bal- 
anced on his cigarette-holder, thought that there 
was yet time to make something of it. Thought 
too of Molly. She was a handsome girl. He 
admired her, he admitted. Off the stage. On 
the stage he admired Lord Beauclerk to the ex- 
clusion of all others. 

There again was a touch of the constant irri- 
tation. 

Off the stage, but still Lord Beauclerk, he 
could have seen his way with Molly. But off the 
stage he was Paul Arden, reserved, rather vain, 
intensely fearful of a false step towards intimacy. 
But he was conscious that he could have improved 
his relations with any man or woman could he 
but dress the part. But that he could only do 
on a silly stage twelve feet square. 

He pitched his cigarette out of the window, 
moved across to the opposite seat, out of the 
draught, and feeling gingerly in his waistcoat 


54 


A Strolling Player 

pocket, produced from folds of soft paper a silky 
moustache, of Clarkson’s best. Lord Beauclerk’s. 
Also a gold-rimmed eye-glass with a segment of 
another and inner rim for the benefit of the ama- 
teur eye — which does not use a glass for busi- 
ness. This, too, was the property of the in- 
triguing nobleman. Lovingly he handled them. 
There was no looking-glass in his carriage, so, 
after abstractedly cocking the monocle for some 
minutes, he laid away both with soft regret and 
sat frowning into the darkness without. 

They were running into Grosvenor Road and 
alternate trains were being pushed up the narrow 
way in short moves, overhauling and dropping 
one another by half lengths, the faces at the 
lighted windows showing a smug superiority of 
open exultation when their own engine forged 
ahead, or injured pride and open execration 
when it fell behind. The ticket collectors kept 
the bridge bravely, but it was crossed at last. 
Paul Arden, finding that h-e was late, as he had 
expected to be, thought he might as well be 
later, and turned his steps to St. James’s. Daisy 
had given him an evening off ; she was alone, it 
was true, but by now she was in bed and enjoying 


55 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


her beauty sleep, and he was in no hurry to be 
home. 

Up Grosvenor Place, by the confines of the 
Palace garden, he walked rapidly, inhaling the 
contagion that charged the warm darkness ; 
pressing on to where the town keeps open house 
night after night, its flambeaux flaring high, its 
guests hurrying to the quickening of its music, 
its deleterious supper-wines flowing in streams; 
its reckonings deferred till the morning. 

Every flagstone is a spring-board at one-and- 
twenty; every curb a jumping-off point to for- 
tune. Every lighted doorway an invitation ; 
every flat-trap an adventure. A bar acquaint- 
ance is a boon companion ; a pretty face an em- 
prise. The roaring of the glittering roads plays 
a big drum accompaniment to the strain he hums 
through smiling lips ; any company is mirth, a 
shouted catch is music, a band is madness. Any 
liquor serves his turn^ any man may be his 
friend; and every friend must have his share. 
There is no bottom to his pocket, or if it be 
reached — why, someone else must stand! But 
that is part of the awakening, and has nothing 
to do with One-and twenty, at present making 


A Strolling Player 

his way along the shilling side of Piccadilly, 
tolerably well aware of the deceptive pulses in 
his bloody and presently turning down St James’s 
Street to portals where no ^^child of sin” takes 
him ^'by the curls,” but a commissionaire opens 
to him and a yawning hall-porter, noting him as 
the advance guard of the young brigade, con- 
noting the retreat of the veterans, delegates his 
office to an inferior functionary, and departs bed- 
ward to Brook-Green. 

Paul stood undecided in the lobby. He read 
the telegrams, considered the theatre-bills, in- 
spected the tape-machine, measured the patterned 
floor-tiles with slow steps; but the town was 
calling, and the great swing-doors let in the un- 
rest of the night instead of shutting it resolutely 
out with the established lock, bolt, and chain, of 
private virtuous domesticity. He should have 
gone home, he told himself. 

Then go, said Mentor. 

Now you are this far West, said the Night. 

You’ll be sorry in the morning, said Mentor. 

The sovereigns jingled in his pocket as he 
worked his heel into the mat. 


57 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


There'll be none to jingle tomorrow, said 
Mentor. 

What are they for? asked the Night. 

A shrewd appeal. No stronger claim would 
appear at that hour. 

Hang it ! man, have some sense, urged 
Mentor. 

Hang it! man, have some fun, mocked the 
Night, breathing balmily through the doorway. 

His hands in his pockets, he paced the pat- 
terned tiles with carefully adjusted steps, but 
when he reached the door again at the end of 
his string of diagonals. Mentor pushed him sud- 
denly off his balance and walked him out and 
round the corner homewards. 

This is a tame ending, protested One-and- 
twenty. But he was a decent fellow and at bot- 
tom never thought of sulking. In much the 
same manner he had often found himself invol- 
untarily shot out of bed in the morning after 
long interior wrestling. ^'The springs of con- 
science," he supposed, walking up Bennet Street. 
‘'You can coil 'em and sit on them for a time. . . 
It was a near thing, though," and he fanned 
himself with his hat. 


58 


A Strolling Player 


The night was very hot and still and the stars 
twinkled benignantly on him as he held his bared 
head high and turned his neck in his collar. He 
gazed benignly back. 

"'One forgets about the stars among all these 
gaslamps,” he muttered to himself, looking round 
him again. 

On crossing the roadway to the west side 
of Arlington Street he noticed a man 
standing on the opposite pavement looking at 
him with more than ordinary scrutiny. As Paul 
returned his gaze he even stepped forward a 
pace as if to get a better sight, and now showed 
himself as a youth of about his own age, fair 
to sandy, of a cheerful and engaging countenance, 
and the perplexity and hesitation which showed 
in it had, he thought, a humorous cast. A dark 
blue blazer with some college crest on the pocket 
had relieved a frock coat from duty, and he was 
nervously chewing the stump of a cigar as he 
bent his puckered brows on the comer. The 
gateway of a great house yawned black behind 
him. Through the railings of its forecourt Paul 
caught a glimpse of white moving to and fro, 
and a little removed from it the fiery spark of 


59 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


another smoker. He pursued his way across the 
road whilst he made these observations and was 
glancing from the young man in the blazer to 
the house behind him, wondering idly who the 
occupiers might be, when the young man took 
his hands from his pockets, threw down his 
cigar, and stepped into the road and stopped 
him. 


6o 


CHAPTER IV 


ARBITRATION 


F orgive me for stopping you, and I 
will explain the reason,'^ he said, 
‘'but I must ask for a minute's pa- 
tience, if that is not asking too 
much." He spoke clearly and pleasantly, but 
there was a suggestion of desperation in his cool- 
ness. He was, plainly, watching for a rebuff 
as a boxer watches for a blow. But Paul liked 
the look of him. Patient of incident he thought 
that this might yield interest. 

“My time is yours," he said magnificently. 
The young man in the blazer took courage. 

“I am in a — difficulty," he said. His eye 
twinkled. He had nearly said “fix." “I want 
help." He watched narrowly for the counter. 
“I have an adventure to propose to you." 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


*^An adventure!” cried Paul. ''I have been 
looking for you for years. I am entirely at your 
service.” 

The other appeared wonderfully brisked at 
this. 

‘T thought you were the man for me!” he 
cried. ‘T have fallen on my feet.” He looked 
round him. There was no one in the street but 
themselves. In the court-yard behind him the red 
spark glowed angrily, and a little removed from 
it a patch of white moved to and fro in the 
darkness. 

‘T must introduce myself,” he said, 'Tor I 
must afterwards introduce you — with your per- 
mission. My name is Billinghurst — Lord Bil- 
linghurst.” 

'T remember now,” thought Arden to himself, 
looking at the house again. "Then this is Hor- 
sham House?” he said interrogatively. 

"Yes. Lord Horsham is my father.” 

Paul thought he detected a shade of apolog}^ 
Lord Horsham had not been a popular minister. 
It might well be an annoyance to a son. 

"My name is Arden,” he hastened to say. 

"Well, Mr. Arden,” said Lord Billinghurst, 


62 


Arbitration 


showing more confidence^ ''the plot is simply 
this. I have two fellows in here who are bent 
on fighting a duel.’’ 

Arden could hardly believe in his good for- 
tune. 

"One of them/’ continued Lord Billinghurst, 
"is a great friend of mine, and I know him too 
well to hope to stop him. The other is a for- 
eigner — a German, whom I don’t know at all. 
But he seems to think it the most natural thing 
in the world and marked me down for his bot- 
tle-holder on the spot. They’re both as hot as 
mustard, thirsting for gore, and the devil of it 
is that they are already sword in hand. 

Arden whistled with surprise. 

■ "Things have gone far, then. I should be 
afraid that the German would be the better man 
at that game.” 

Lord Billinghurst nodded. A confidential 
nod. 

"Perhaps you will say that I should have asked 
them to settle their differences outside, or that 
I should have sent for a policeman. I could do 
either now, and must do so if you decline to 
make up the rubber; but at the moment they 

63 


Helen of Troy^ N. Y. 

were at each other’s throat. Then, again, Rag- 
gleston — ^my man — was in the wrong of it, and 
if I get a policeman to save him from the Ger- 
man he would never forgive me. He rather fan- 
cies himself, unfortunately, and I was to engage 
you as his second, but of course I want you to 
come in and pooh-pooh the whole concern. We 
must stop it^ you know. I could make no head 
against them myself, and besides — ” his hands 
thrust in his pockets he considered the pavement 
between his straddled feet; then looking at Ar- 
den again with his former perplexity, 'T am 
mixed up in it myself,” he said. 

Paul Arden put his hands behind him and 
rested his weight comfortably on his stick. 

‘'And who is the lady?” he asked. 

Lord Billinghurst wavered no longer. 

“Come on,” said he, and taking his man by 
the arm led him into the court-yard and across it 
to the doors of the house. The two wandering 
figures in the yard closed in on them and fol- 
lowed them up the steps and into the hall, where 
Lord Billinghurst waited for them and closed 
the doors behind them, and Arden found himself 
confronted with the conspirators against the 

64 


Arbitration 


peace — one tall, blond, Teutonic, rather puffy 
about the eyes, and rigid in his 'Jrac'' as a for- 
eigner may be with whom it implies an occasion ; 
the other dark, but very English, hard and 
healthy looking and very much at ease in worn 
blue serge. Lord Billinghurst introduced them 
with a gravity to suit their feelings, and led 
across the hall to the library beyond, where the 
bright lights seemed brilliant after their sojourn 
in the darkness ; and where Arden’s eyes fell at 
once on a pair of swords standing on their points 
against the middle window. The room, was 
cleared for action, but Lord Billinghurst’s first 
move was to lift into the middle of it a small 
table set with decanters and glasses, and to offer 
refreshment to the newcomer. 

He drew chairs forward and called on every 
one to sit down. Raggleston did so under pro- 
test, and thereafter the German. 

''Gentlemen,” said Lord Billinghurst, "I pro- 
pose that Mr. Arden, who so handsomely lends 
us his time and his services, shall arbitrate be- 
tween us in this affair.” 

"Hullo!” said Raggleston to Arden, "I 
thought you were going to give me a knee.” 

65 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


am at Lord Billinghurst’s disposition,” re- 
plied Arden, drinking his whisky-and-soda and 
prepared to enjoy himself. 

The Baron said nothing, but it promised no 
consent. Lord Billinghurst continued, address- 
ing himself to Raggleston and the German. 

‘^You must remember that I have a voice in 
this quarrel. If you two fellows fight, the win- 
ner will probably think himself entitled to a free 
hand. Then where do I come in?” 

‘Terhaps as chief mourner,” suggested Rag- 
gleston, modestly. 

'‘No. Your difference with Herr von Deg- 
gendorf is a side issue. Let us submit the whole 
story to Mr. Arden^ who shall appoint the order 
of our — ^wooing — for that, I take it, is to go to 
the root of the matter; and let us engage our- 
selves to abide by his decision.” 

The Freiherr looked unconvinced. "Herr 
Raggleston has insulted me,” he said, "and also 
— ” Miss Heimer had not been mentioned before 
Arden, so he stopped short. 

"Look here, von Deggendorf, the three of us 
can’t fight. Yet I should have a voice in the 
settlement. Let me put the case before Mr. Ar- 

66 


Arbitration 


den, who is a stranger to us all. If he decides 
that you shall have the first try, Raggleston and 
I will stand aside, and you shall go alone to the 
Isle of Wight.’’ 

''But if Mr. Arden decide in favor of Herr 
Raggleston?” asked the Freiherr, smiling ironi- 
cally. 

"What Mr. Arden’s judgment may be, I know 
even less than himself,” replied Billinghurst, 
stiffly, sitting back in his chair, "but I am ready 
to abide it.” 

Raggleston had been talking to Arden. "After 
all, it’s rather rough on the house,” he finished 
by saying, "and if the Baron will submit I will 
pledge myself.” 

"Then be it so,” cried Lord Billinghurst, car- 
rying it with a high hand. "Mr. Arden, as you 
divined, there is a lady in the case. Herr von 
Deggendorf, Mr. Raggleston, and myself, are all 
— interested in — I think you are entitled to know 
all we can tell you — a certain Miss Heimer. Mr. 
Raggleston and Herr von Deggendorf are so 
warm in their devotion — though I would not 
seem to depreciate my own — that they have fallen 
out about her. But I think that the favour of 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

an open field accorded to each in ' turn should 
arrange our jealousies — if not amicably, without 
fear of collision. If you can judge of our de- 
serts as you see us, and despatch us in due prece- 
dence upon this quests we agree to abide by the 
result.” 

''And ril ask you to the wedding,” said Rag- 
gleston. 

The Freiherr shrugged his shoulders and 
probably made a mental reservation, but no open 
refusal. They waited for Arden to speak. The 
arbiter asked for a cigarette, and considered his 
judgment, and presently was inspired. 

"Gentlemen,” he asked^ rising to his legs, 
"should I not be presented to Miss Heimer ?” 

''Ungehort/' said the German under his 
breath. 

Raggleston hummed. "Oh, yes, he is a judge, 
and a good judge too,” but Lord Billinghurst 
said instantly, "With all my heart, but we can’t 
get at her.” 

Arden continued: "I am asked to choose at 
short notice, and I may say blindfold, a husband 
for a lady I have never seen. If the element of 
that lady’s affections may not be entered in my 


68 


Arbitration 


reckonings, but must be reserved for her own 
and final sentence, liow can I handicap competi- 
tors whose respective favour in her sight is to 
me an unknown quantity? He to whom I give 
a week’s start may already have a lead in oppor- 
tunity, and he whom I keep to scratch may al- 
ready be handicapped by unkind Fortune.” 

*'It is the same for all,*^ «aid Lord Billinghurst. 

''And as for the fortune,” said Raggleston, 
brutally, "it’s what we’re running for.” 

''Da>s ist gar nicht so/' cried the Freiherr, 
struggling to his legs. Herr Raggleston must 
for himself speak. I care not that the Fraulein 
is rich. Bin nicht von Ihrer meinung — dbscheu- 
lich — unverschdmt r He pounded the table with 
his fist. 

"At any rate, Mr. Arden,” put in Lord Billing- 
hurst hastily, "I may say that none of us has any 
advantage that way. Miss Heimer’s fortune puts 
her beyond the influence of anything we can 
offer.” 

Raggleston shouted with laughter. "Your 
health. Bill,” he said, drinking to him. "I con- 
sider that remark a gem — beyond the influence 
of anything we can offer — Mr. Arden, you may 

69 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


unhesitatingly accept Lord Billinghurst's assur- 
ance/' He roared till the glasses rang. 

'‘Stop your infernal row/' growled Billing- 
hurst, "or I won't lend you your railway fare.’' 

Raggleston wiped his eyes. "Then Mr. Arden 
must, if he sends me on this quest for a bride,'’ 
he said. 

The Freiherr looked scandalized ana aston- 
ished. He began to suspect what Arden had 
not been slow to discover, that Raggleston's pur- 
suit, at any rate, of the lady fair^ rose rather 
from the spirit of opposition than from any 
more serious sentiment. Levity of manner might 
be but lack of good taste. But he was hot clear. 
Raggleston had been ready enough to fight half 
an hour since. 

He was swaying with laughter now; he had 
forgotten all about the duel and almost about the 
German. Billinghurst, well pleased at his change 
of humour, sat yet by the table, amused at Ar- 
den's bearing and hoping devoutly that he would 
find a way out of the squabble for them, or, at 
worst, out of the house. 

"Well, Mr. Arden," he said, "you have now 
something to go on. You know the nature of 


70 


Arbitration 


our affections, and the state of our fortunes. Our 
natural advantages we leave to your intuition. 
Have another drink and then tell us what you 
think of us. One finger only? Well, you know 
best.’' 

Paul Arden rapidly considered the situation, 
the spirit of mischief working in him. To placate 
the German would, in most likelihood, promote 
the peace, but he did not feel moved to serve the 
German. To give Raggleston the first look-in 
would do little harm to any one else’s prospects, 
for he was plainly a man who only asked suffi- 
cient rope. It seemed best to send Billinghurst. 
But he might not like it, as the scheme had been 
his. He would send Raggleston and see how 
the German took it. 

'"Well, then, gentlemen,” he said aloud, back- 
ing a few steps down the room and facing the 
trio, ‘‘here is my judgment. The rules being 
that each competitor for the prize, the rich prize, 
of this lady’s person, shall, in the order I allot, 
have a free hand and an open field to urge his 
suit until accepted or rejected; and immediately 
on the happening of such acceptance or rejec- 
tion, or in the event of his abandoning his pur- 

71 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

pose, that he shall communicate with his next 
to follow/’ 

His audience acquiescing, though the German 
bit his nails and looked worried, he continued in 
a louder voice: 

''In view of the fact that Mr. Raggleston is 
(like myself) a commoner and yet without the 
wealth a commoner in such case should have to 
weigh against the coronet’s ruddy gold — ” ("a 
ruddy aristocracy/’ Mr. Raggleston was under- 
stood to murmur), "and furthermore, in view of 
his confession that his pretension to Miss 
Heimer’s hand is not backed by that heartfelt 
affection that animates at least one of his rivals, 
I cannot but account him at a disadvantage. In 
short, I really do not see what he can say for 
himself.” 

Applause and approval from Mr. Raggleston’s 
rivals. 

"I must therefore give him a good start. And 
I accord him the first try.” 

Laughter and cheers from Mr. Raggleston. 

"Herr von Deggendorf, who is, I understand, 
a compatriot of Miss Heimer’s by blood, if not 


Arbitration 


by adoption, has the advantage of the type of 
beauty most likely to appeal/' 

Herr von Deggendorf stroked his moustache. 
His rivals hung their heads. ''He can make the 
lady of his choice Frau Baronin, or Freifrau — 
he must forgive my ignorance — so Lord Billing- 
hurst's coronet pales to a mere equality. He can 
also, as we have heard, assure her that he loves 
her for herself alone. With these overwhelming 
aids to grace the Freiherr von Deggendorf must 
start scratch, and will, I trust, acknowledge the 
justice of his position. Lord Billinghurst then 
falls into the second place in the adventure, and 
it is to him that the quest will pass when Mr. 
Raggleston communicates the tidings of his suc- 
cess or failure. I have done my best for you, 
gentlemen, and now I can but drink to the best 
man." 

"Then here's to you again. Bill," said Rag- 
gleston, throwing back his head; "you won't re- 
fuse me that office.” 

"You overlooked Mr. Raggleston's confidence 
in your reckoning, Mr. Arden,” said Lord Bil- 
linghurst; "and it should take him far. Charge 


73 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


your glasses, gentlemen. I give you Mr. Ar- 
den/’ 

The soda-water corks flew left and right and 
the company drank to Arden, their noble selves, 
to Miss Heimer, and to the quest, until the 
glasses were dry, and Arden rose to go. 

'T shall look for you this day week and at the 
same hour,” said Lord Billinghurst, “and shall 
hope to give you news — ^before I leave for the 
country. You must turn up too, von Deggen- 
dorf.” 

“Yes. I shall probably be back,” said the Frei- 
herr. 

“Back. Where from?” said Lord Billinghurst, 
staring. 

“From the Insel Wight, nicht zvahrT said the 
Freiherr placidly. 

There was silence. 

“I haf told you, nicht wahr, I go to see Miss 
Heimer tomorrow ?” 

Raggleston positively staggered. “Hasn’t the 
beggar understood?” he cried. Lord Billing- 
hurst backed against the door. 

“My dear von Deggendorf,” he said, “haven’t 
you understood? The matter is arranged for 


74 


Arbitration 


us. Mr. Raggleston goes to the Isle of Wight 
tomorrow, and you and I are pledged not to 
interfere.’’ He spoke very gently and his tone 
contrasted with the other’s consequent outburst. 

''Unsinnr shouted the German suddenly, 
snapping his tension. ''You think me one child. 
You think I leave the Fraulein to this. I dell 
you no ! Donnerwetter, no !” His face was suf- 
fused with anger. "Enough of this childishness. 
Quatsch! Go to your games, verdamte Buben! 
Pink-ponk is for you, not women — you who can- 
not fight.” The perspiration shone on his cheeks. 
He stamped his fist into his palm. "I leaf you 
now, but I will gif news of you. You need not 
visit the Fraulein more.” 

"I am afraid we shall have to go back to the 
beginning. Jack,” said Lord Billinghurst, regret- 
fully. 

"Much better,” assented Raggleston with ap- 
proval. "It might have been all over by now. Of 
course, if you like. I’ll help him across the hall 
and down the steps, but we should have to deal 
with him afterwards. And it is my show now. 
You have nothing to do with it until you hear of 
‘my success or failure,’ ” he quoted. 


75 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


‘'And if you fail?’’ asked Billinghurst, trou- 
bled. 

“And I would call your attention to the fact 
that he called me Dutch names. I heard him. 
I really behaved like a lamb, Bill. I appeal to 
you, Mr Arden. Fail!” he added, contemptu- 
ously. “Lord bless you, I was brought up on 
soft food.” 

“I had rather you enforced the judgment of 
the court than I did,” said Arden, contemplating 
the wrathful German, who was looking from one 
to the other, only gathering breath to break out 
again. “But I think that whatever arbitrament 
you may now decide on” — ^and for the life of 
him he could not keep his eye from the swords — 
“the — er — point of it should be impressed upon 
Herr von Deggendorf beyond misconception.” 

Raggleston grinned savagely and looked at 
Billinghurst, who thrust out his under lip. “I 
am sorry to have troubled you for nothing — ” 
he began. 

“If I may play the part originally intended 
for me — ” said Arden, spreading his hands. 

The Freiherr stood panting, almost smoking. 
He was so far from being attuned to their low. 

76 


Arbitration 


pitch that their drift positively escaped him. 
Swelling with contempt, he thought the opposi- 
tion ended and began the formation of some con- 
descending words of farewell. Billinghurst 
looked disgusted. Raggleston more than hope- 
ful — decided. He began to put back the chairs. 
The young host snapped his fingers in a despair- 
ing gesture and turned to Arden. 

‘T accept your offer, with a difference. Take 
over this d — d fellow, do you mind — ^and I’ll look 
after Jack. I suppose you know, Mr. Arden,” 
he went on in an undertone, ^'that this may be 
a serious business for us? If you like to go 
quietly home no one could reproach you.” 

— But myself,” said Arden, following the 
best models and highly pleased with the imita- 
tion. 'T will second Herr von Deggendorf, and 
let us hope that he may be eliminated from the 
quest. After all, if your friend fancies him- 
self—” 

"T begin to think that you are the worst luna- 
tic of the lot,” said Billinghurst with a sigh. 
^‘All Bedlam’s loose tonight. But since we are 
seconding this madness let us arrange things for 
the best.” He first begged the Freiherr with 


77 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


great politeness to reserve his fire for a moment 
while he consulted with his friends. Raggles- 
ton he requested to desist from clearing a ring, 
hastily adding that it was the business of the 
seconds. Whereon Mr. Raggleston with alacri- 
tous amiability sat down and compounded him- 
self a short drink out of the drains of the bot- 
tles. Then returning to Arden he told him his 
idea. 

‘T have been thinking that the garden outside 
these windows has a gate onto the Park — 

''Excellent,’’ agreed Arden, "it’s a magnificent 
night, and the light will be less baulky there than 
here.” 

"Devilish bad, though,” said Billinghurst. 
"Can’t we turn them loose among the trees and 
let them look for one another in the fashion of 
the American backwoods ?” 

"What, with shot guns ? A shot would bring 
all Piccadilly down on us.” 

"True. And they might bag one of us by ac- 
cident — ” 

"Let them use the swords. It’s much safer — 
for us and for them. All the distinguished duel- 
lists are swordsmen. Th that take to pistols 

78 


Arbitration 


shall perish by the pistol — before they arrive at 
distinction/^ 

'‘You think there's not much danger, then, of 
serious hurt?" asked Billinghurst, willing to be- 
lieve it the stranger's fund of experience. 

"No, I don't. We can stop them at the first 
scratch." 

"Then hadn't they better fight where we can 
see?" 

"So long as they can feel — " 

"What? for one another!" 

"There's a full moon." 

"You can hardly deny that it's lighter in here." 

But Arden was bitten with the notion of a 
duel by moonlight, and urged the awkward shape 
of the room' and the difficulty of placing the 
lamps. 

"All right," said Billinghurst, "you instruct 
your man and I'll just ring and tell them to shut 
up the house. If they're not gone to bed already." 
But a footman came to the bell and when dis- 
missed hesitated. 

"The Marquis — " he began. 

"What's that?" asked Billinghurst^ sharply, 
"—comes back tonight, your lordship." 


79 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

^'Nonsense/’ said Billinghurst, nervously irri- 
tated. 

'"Mrs. Rudd had a postcard this evening, your 
lordship.’’ 

This was convincing. 

^‘Blazes !” exclaimed his lordship with ve- 
hemence. The conspirators gazed fearfully on 
one another. '^Never mind,” he said, ^T’ll sit up 
for him. He won’t want anything. You can go 
to bed.” The footman retired and Billinghurst 
studied the clock. 

‘Tt’s now ten minutes to twelve,” he said. ‘T 
know the train. He can’t be here till half-past. 
But there’s no time to waste.” 

Arden addressed himself to his man and ex- 
plained to him that since he had rejected the um- 
pire’s decision Mr. Raggleston was ready to 
give him satisfaction in his own way. And that 
he, Arden, was ready to do the necessary for him. 
They bowed to one another, and exchanged as- 
surances of their distinguished consideration, and 
at the Freiherr’s request Arden presented him 
with his card. ''Your names are hard for me,” 
said the Freiherr, smiling. "But I would wish to 
remember him.” Billinghurst, after some hunt- 


80 


Arbitration 


ing, had found the key of the gate and having 
extinguished all the lamps but one now stood at 
the open window whence Raggleston had al- 
ready passed out. ‘‘Will you bring the swords, 
Mr. Arden he said. Arden put the weapons 
under his arm and followed the Freiherr through 
the window. 


CHAPTER V 


ARMS 


T he small stretch of gravel edged with 
bedded geraniums, between the steps 
under the library window and the 
heavy railing at the Park side, lay 
alarmingly close to the stir of Piccadilly; and 
the footfalls and the voices of the passersby 
on the near side of the road, and the stare of the 
gas lamps at its pavement’s edge, moved Arden 
to bring the swords under his coat and to pull 
his coat-collar up to his hat-brim. 

He glanced behind and above him at the win- 
dows of the house. 

All were dark save those of the room they had 
left, and there the solitary lamp behind the one 
shuttered window let little and indirect illumina- 
tion through the two standing open. 


8 ^ 


Arms 


But Piccadilly was not thinking of them. The 
rust shrieked in the gate lock, and the four of 
them stood silently for a minute, Billinghurst 
with his neck craned over the spikes, before they 
issued gently upon the dry path, flecked with 
shadows, which led southwards into obscurity. 
The last man out closed the gate gingerly, and 
they stepped across into the black shelter of the 
trees. 

Raggleston turned to Arden. 

‘'Don’t show any white,” he said. 

Arden was closed wrapped but he guessed the 
application of the advice, and motioned the Ger- 
man to pull his coat across his shirt-front which 
shone in the moonlight. Billinghurst, and Rag- 
gleston with him^ walked away along the edge of 
the turf, keeping to the shadow wherever pos- 
sible, and the other two followed their uncertain 
lead across the dim chequer- work of the night; 
way being made from the disturbing wakeful- 
ness of the thoroughfare towards the quiet re- 
cesses of the Park. They walked with caution, 
and Arden and his man in silence, hurrying across 
the moonlit spaces, and pausing now and again 
in a patch of blaqkness to search into the uncer- 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

tain and formless shades around them, whose 
extent and perspective were made doubly indis- 
tinct, wavering and fathomless by the winking 
gleams of fixed and travelling lights beyond the 
boundaries. One of the big houses towards St. 
James’s Place was brilliantly lighted up and Ar- 
den looked fearfully for interruption from its 
hither side, but Billinghurst knew his neighbour- 
hood and had found nothing exceptional in the 
state of his gate-hinges. 

He now halted his party at the intersection of 
a path running from the west, the angle of turf 
on the south side being studded with young 
trees, whose spacing allowed free movement in 
the open-work shadow of their slender and lightly 
fringed boughs, while, as he pointed out, their 
grouping would, at a little distance^ secure them 
from notice on three sides at least. 

The moon was not at the full, but she was 
shining with a good grace, making dim the dia- 
mond dust powdered over the blue-black heavens, 
and the sanded path between the immature grove 
on the corner of grass and the private gardens 
opposite, took up the white irradiation and turned 
the lightly laid shadows to ink. 

84 


Arms 


One side of the angle had a containing rail, 
that its point might not be blunted by the hur- 
rying feet of a people who cannot loiter even in a 
Green Park, and along the railing’s length the 
growing plane trees were dotted irregularly, run- 
ning back presently, with a widening interval, to 
the main footway. The space they embraced was 
filled with their woven shadows, which fell like- 
wise athwart the way itself, where the trees’ 
parent blackness touched the border, but left iso- 
lated and bright a rectangle of path perhaps thirty 
feet in length; forming the stage, as it were, of 
their small darkened amphitheatre of worn grass. 
Lord Billinghurst held counsel with Arden. He 
had held it, urgently, with Raggleston, as they 
came along and was sufficiently primed with the 
preliminaries of the business to assume their con- 
duct at a pinch. They agreed in low voices on 
the advantage of the spot, and Billinghurst, with 
a bit of stick, drew a line across the middle of the 
arena, with a nervous inclination to soliloquy, re- 
peating his instructions to himself in muttered 
tones. 

Raggleston had shed his coat and waistcoat at 
the foot of a tree, and was rolling up the sleeves 

85 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

of his soft shirt, and tightening the seaman's belt 
he still affected on the stable earth. The German 
was not behindhand. His ^Trac" was hung with 
respect on the iron railing and he was tying his 
embroidered braces about his middle, with diffi- 
culty but deliberately. 

"'When you are ready — " said Billinghurst, 
standing over the line he had drawn. 

The combatants stepped onto the path and Ar- 
den, producing the swords from under his coat, 
offered the hilts across his arm to the German, 
who took one and swung the blade with a vicious 
"whit," and felt his wrist and shoulder. Rag- 
gleston armed himself also, and, as there was 
nothing to choose in position, the light falling 
full on Billinghurst's puckered countenance 
where he stood with outstretched hand between 
the two, took his ground on his friend's left. 
They brought their points under his palm, found 
their distance, and felt for their foothold. Arden 
noticed that Raggleston had cast his shoes and 
was standing in his socks. Arden faced Billing- 
hurst, but a little back on the turf, that his shadow 
might not fall between. 

"Are you ready?" asked Billinghurst, ner- 

86 


Arms 


vously. '^En garde, I mean — Then, with clear- 
ness enough and withdrawing his hand, 
he said, and stepped back against the garden rail- 
ings. 

They did not move for some moments, but 
stood to position, glaring through the unaccus- 
tomed light with evident strain, and Arden’s 
heart misgave him for his obstinacy. What he had 
seen as a midnight frolic might yet be the death 
of one of these. An exquisite fear broke over 
him, and he stood on one leg with excitement, 
like a schoolboy stealing some illicit joy. He 
could no longer see Billinghurst’s face. Would 
they never begin ? 

The German stood nearly erect, though his 
long sword arm was at full stretch and his left 
at extension behind him, minimising the stride 
of his legs, which seemed too close together and 
wanting in spring. Raggleston stood lower, al- 
most crouched, his left leg somewhat far behind, 
his disengaged arm so far over his head that his 
hand hung like a guard to his forehead. This 
was fashioned on a famous master of fence and 
had had in the original a something terrifying 
and of the desperado — generally justified in the 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

event But Mr. Raggleston was not given to 
vain and joyous imaginings, and since he used 
the style he probably found it sit comfortably. 

Point to point, they toed the ground cautiously 
and watched each other's frowning front. Then 
Raggleston leapt. There was a ringing encoun- 
ter, a brisk flicker, and the German gave ground 
to the verge of the space, where Billinghurst 
stopped them. They were started again and at 
the '^Allez” Raggleston attacked again. The Ger- 
man brought him up with the coup d' arret and 
attacked in his turn, but the Englishman showed 
admirable agility, though perhaps his striped 
socks twinkled faster than his blade. 

The ring of steel was an inspiration and a 
fierce joy, and Arden and Billinghurst sprang 
backwards and forwards on the heels of the com- 
batants, breathing hard with the single and 
thirsty emotion of the fighting animal, and 
scarcely repressing their encouragements. Once 
Billinghurst exclaimed hastily at a ''passe'' which 
in that false light might have traversed Raggles- 
ton's body, and once Raggleston swore furiously 
at the shadows. Then in a blind scurry of feet 
and swords the German lost his footing and came 

88 


Arms. 


down heavily on his side, Raggleston's sword 
going down with him, while his own broke under 
him in his hand, the point flying like an arrow. 
At the instant came the faint clang of a distant 
gate. 

'Fhe German lay as he had fallen. Arden feel- 
ing it incumbent on him, as second, to do some- 
thing, took him under the arm to raise him, and 
the three of them bent over him. 

"‘Let him lie,’' said Raggleston hurriedly, 
stooping and picking up his sword by the blade. 

“Must have hurt yourself^ haven’t you?” said 
Billinghurst, suspecting a sprain, but the Ger- 
man answered nothing, putting his hand through 
his shirt front. Raggleston, panting, looked 
closely at his point. The German withdrew his 
hand. The blood was thick on it. He uttered 
something between a grunt and a groan and 
Arden heard him say ''Mit mir isfs ausT 

“By God! You’ve run him through. Jack!” 
cried Billinghurst, in horror. “He’s had three 
inches, anyway,” replied Raggleston, gloomily, 
gazing on his point. 

Deggendorf groaned again and tried to sit up, 
but when Arden took him under the armpits and 

89 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


supported his back with his knee, he cried out as 
if in sharp pain. Billinghurst ran for his coat. 
They made a pad of it, and laid him flat on the 
path, his head on its support, while Raggleston 
loosed the improvised girth and tore down the 
fold of his shirt. The German looked at him, all 
the pink gone now from his face, and his wryed 
mouth struck Raggleston with a clumsy contri- 
tion. 

“Fm damned sorry,’’ he said. "'You slipped, 
you know. Or you’d have recovered yourself.” 

The other raised his head and looked again — 
past Raggleston. His senses were acute. 

''Nehmen Sie sich in acht/^ he said placidly. 

Kommt Jemand/' 

The other turned his head and followed his 
gaze, then started to his feet with an exclama- 
tion. 

"There’s someone coming! What shall we 
do?” 

Hurried and irresolute the three stood over the 
hapless German, straining their eyes towards 
Buckingham Palace. As they looked, two dark 
figures emerged upon the expanse of Park, walk- 


90 


Arms 


ing fast and straight, as another second made 
apparent, in their direction. 

“They’ll be on us in another minute,” said 
Raggleston, losing no moment but tearing on 
his coat and catching up his boots. “Pick up 
the swords. Bill — got that key about you? You 
must see me through the house. This place isn’t 
healthy for me.” 

Lord Billinghurst, unnerved and miserable, 
searched his pockets with shaking hands. 

“We — we can’t leave him here, Bill,” he said 
in a breaking voice. “We must take him with 
us—” 

“Rats !” exclaimed Raggleston inelegantly and 
angrily, on the ground again, hauling on his 
boots with furious haste. “You’re not on the 
Veldt. They’ll look after him as well as we can. 
But if we are caught here there’ll be the devil 
to pay. Pick up the swords and come on.” 

“He’s quite right,” nodded Arden, who, though 
dashed in his ardour and awed by the immediate 
future, had still his wits about him. “We can be 
of no use to him. If we picked him up awk- 
wardly we might kill him. At worst we can 
come back.” 

9 ^ 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


Billinghurst made broken protestations, but 
Raggleston was on his feet again, making up the 
path and calling on him to follow — ^and quickly. 
Arden took the young nobleman, all unwilling, 
by the arm, and urged him towards the house at 
a smart pace 

'They will take him to the hospital,” he said, 
looking over his shoulder as he ran. "It’s the 
best thing that — Gad!” he broke off, "I’ve for- 
gotten something,” and dropped behind. He had 
remembered his visiting card, now in the Baron’s 
pocket. Even a policeman could read that bit of 
evidence. Had he time ? The others ran on and 
were out of sight in a moment. He turned onto 
the grass and ran back full tilt to the scene of 
action, to the German lying still and stretched on 
the path, one arm fumbling gently in his breast. 
Arden’s heart smote him again. Raggleston’s 
callousness and the cowardice of them all, to run, 
and leave the wretched man. He would stand by 
him and take the consequences. And with that 
the voices of the approaching strangers broke 
on his ear. 

"Up to no good at this hour,” he heard in 
harsh tones ; and he saw again that his arrest 


92 


Arms 


would lead to Raggleston’s — a hanging matter — 
and the undeniable vicinity of St George’s Hos- 
pital was pressed upon him by his common sense 
acting with belated and uncommon insistence. 
And at the same instant he was filled with a con- 
sciousness of the futility of searching the un- 
happy German, to say nothing of the inhumanity. 
He had not a second at his command. The card 
must stay and he must go. He turned on his heel 
and ran all he knew up the Park side, holding on 
his hat, and gathering up the skirts of his coat. 
He thought he heard a call behind him, but had 
no doubt about a far more instant call in front, 
and ran hard. 

'Tool that I was to go back,” he said above his 
breathy gasping for wind, and running his hand 
along the railings in haste for the gate. "Con- 
found it. Where is the thing? Surely they 
haven’t locked it.” 

He rattled the handle and flung his weight 
upon it, but was repulsed. Stepping back, he 
looked up at the house and opened his mouth to 
call. It was the wrong one. He ran to the next 
but could see no light. Had he overshot it ? He 
spurted down the path again only to see a man 


93 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


coming up it at a run, and saw now, too late, 
the gleam of the library windows which he had 
passed in his flight, and knew that the gate was 
between him and his pursuer. Could he reach 
it first even, he would give the whole show away. 

His short flurry had left him and he had no 
sooner spotted the house than he made up his 
mind to abandon that line of retreat, and to make 
for the open. The next moment he was speed- 
ing westward over the grass, and heard the heavy 
boots turn on the gravel and come thudding in 
his rear. There was an idle shout from the pave- 
ment on his right and he wheeled instinctively 
away from it. The move was correct though 
without judgment, for, Horsham House left be- 
hind, he knew but one bolt-hole and that the gate 
on Constitution Hill by which the interruption 
had come; for it was just humanly possible that 
it might have been left unlocked for the nonce. 

He felt that he had the legs of his pursuer and, 
running more easily, was soon abreast once more 
of the little grove of plane-trees where they had 
fought. In spite of the pressing anxiety at his 
heels his mind was still occupied with the un- 
fortunate gentleman he had been obliged to 


94 


Arms 


leave to chance succour, and he turned his head 
as he passed the spot, but only to see a short, 
burly figure break from the screen of trees and 
run towards him on wavering legs, while the same 
harsh voice he had heard some minutes back 
hailed him to stop. This second intervener was 
hatless, having probably sprung, from bending 
over the helpless body on the path, to help in cut- 
ting off the fleeing midnight assassin, and the 
moonlight showed a massive head with features 
as harsh as the voice, but more familiar ; for Ar- 
den instantly recognised the cartooned and cari- 
catured Marquis of Horsham, Lord Billinghursfs 
father. 

‘"Stop ! I tell you ! You, sir !” shouted the Mar- 
quis, raising his hand, and the strident voice car- 
ried authority, but he spoke to one undisciplined 
and travelling with considerable impetus. 
'"Wants a word with me, too,’’ thought Arden, 
"family weakness, evidently — never suspected it 
was congenital in Billinghurst.” He was past the 
Marquis in three strides, but he raised his hat as 
he sped and panted apologetically "I am sorry — - 
but I am in rather a hurry.” His Lordship cursed 
him heartily for a scoundrel, but Arden was out 


95 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


of hearing. 'Think Tve done enough for that 
family/’ he reflected, as he plunged across the 
grass and jumped in and out of the intersecting 
low-railed pathways, "and Fm not out of the 
wood yet — in all literalness. Gad ! I’m sorry for 
Billinghurst — damned disinheriting counte- 
nance, that! Useful man to have for a father, 
though — If Billinghurst stands in when it comes 
to clutches, he’d hardly be such a brute — such a 
Brutus as to hang us all. Lord ! how hot lam! — 
where is this gate ?” But he had run straight this 
time and now saw the gate in front of him ; a few 
more strides and he was at it. The shouts behind 
him grew faint, while, through the railings in 
front, two lights resolved themselves into the 
lamps of a standing cab. If only — ! Ho^ng 
against hope, but already planning alternatives, 
he reached the iron with outstretched hand — it 
yielded. By a violent constriction he mastered 
his pounding breath and full stretched muscles, 
and the next second emerged quietly on Constitu- 
tion Hill. The cabman was just swinging him- 
self onto his box, pipe in mouth. Another han- 
som was jingling rapidly away towards the gates. 


Arms 


its red lights diminishing as it ran by the garden 
wall. 

''Hansom/’ said Arden, quietly, and stepped 
aboard with deliberateness. 

The man picked up his reins with alacrity, 
staring at his fare with some surprise, for he had 
not seen him coming. "Drive up Piccadilly.” 
"Very good. Sir,” said the man, and turned his 
awakened steed, and rattled the wihip handle in 
the socket. It was enough, and they passed rap- 
idly from the scene. Arden looking out from the 
side window saw nothing but the reflection of his 
own heated face pressed against the glass, and 
heard no call. He of the voice had, fortunately, 
had no legs, and he with the legs had probably 
no breath. Arden himself was done. He sat 
back in the cab as limp as a rag, the perspiration 
streaking down his neck, and in his relief and his 
desire for air drew breath with an inhaustion that 
made his ribs crack. He dropped his hat by him 
on the seat and mopped with his handkerchief, the 
tepid town air affording no relief even under the 
rush of the cab. But Hyde Park Corner was 
reached and he must sit up. He was afraid of 
being recognised now, and wished that he had 


97 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


taken any other route, for the road was bright, 
and the carriage traffic streaming west. At Ham- 
ilton Place there was a moment’s pause, late as it 
was, and he tried to draw down the blind on the 
side where he was crouched, but it was a fixture. 
Feeling for his handkerchief again he searched 
the wrong pocket and his fingers met a soft- 
papered parcel — his disguise ! He bounded in the 
cab. Had it been a fourwheeler he could have 
left it another man. The hansom had the advan- 
tage of looking-glasses but its dressing room was 
both public and cramped. His first thought was 
his club, but that might be the first thought of the 
present holder of his visiting card. And a Min- 
ister has many myrmidons. The hansom was 
bowling along Piccadilly again, his breath was 
coming back, and the draught of air was cooling 
him how, and he thought that if he made no false 
move in the next few minutes he saw his way 
to a peaceful interregnum under the irresponsible 
vicegerency of Lord Beauclerk. He had a 
good start and a disguise he was accustomed to, 
and had only to contrive a moment’s concealment 
to issue upon the world a moustached and mon- 

98 


Arms 


ocled adventurer, a man without a past and equal 
to any future. 

Nothing so conceits one as a stroke of luck, the 
less deserved the better, whether the favouritism 
take the form of a straight nose, a streak of talent, 
or the mere finding open of a gate that should 
be shut ; and Paul, out of the wood, thought him- 
self a smart fellow to have found an exit, and 
capable of playing the hand Fortune had dealt 
him. Paul Arden should cease upon the midnight 
with no pain, and Lord Beauclerk should step 
across the footlights to a world where he might 
find scope for his remarkaible powers of bam- 
boozling the middle classes. 

Solitude and a looking glass. Yes, they could 
be achieved. He thrust up the trap and instructed 
the cabman. They were crossing the Circus. 
^'Back entrance,” he shouted, ''in Jermyn Street.” 
The cab disentangled itself from the interwoven 
lines of clattering omnibuses, and the clamouring 
crowd in their wake, and drew rein at the double 
doors of a restaurant in the quieter thorough- 
fare. 

He paid the man through the trap, and sprang 
across the pavement and over the threshold, 


99 




Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

where stairs led up and stairs led down. Arden 
went up, two stairs at a time, like a man who 
knew his mind, and also his whereabouts. At the 
top of the flight was the lavatory, lighted and de- 
serted. He put down his hat and his stick on 
the dressing-table, drew forth and unrolled his 
parcel, and leaning across the basins, moistened 
the spirit gum and affixed the moustache with 
habile fingers. The eyeglass had a cord, an ad- 
junct he had hitherto despised, but he could take 
no risks now, so he adjusted the line de sauvetage 
round his collar, and fixing the glass regarded 
himself with satisfaction. Daisy herself wouldn’t 
know him. 

Prepared now against interruption he consid- 
ered his general appearance. A well-tied tie had 
stood the strain of the evening, but his hat and his 
trousers showed signs of the strenuous life. 

He washed himself and brushed himself, and 
feeling an impulsion to hide as much of the real 
man as might be, put on a pair of stained gloves 
he found in his coat pocket. Then Lord Beau- 
clerk, still admiring himself in the looking glass, 
was suddenly immersed in darkness by the 
switching off of the light. 


100 


CHAPTER VI 


THE CLOAK OF NIGHT 


H e made his way out and stumbled down 
the stairs, the quick-dried gum stiff on 
his upper lip, the moustache tickling 
his nose, his hand nervously groping 
for the dangling eyeglass. 

Down below him in the passages the stentorian 
shouts of ''closing time, please,’’ mingled with the 
uproarious voices of the retiring company, and he 
found the swing door into the great bar-room 
blocked with struggling forms. 

Pressing through, his face composed and his 
wits alert, he came full upon an acquaintance. 
[Bobby Vane, a promising young brother of 
Molly’s, stood leaning his back against the bar, 
his feet outspread, an empty glass in his hand, 
viewing the departing guests with a good na- 


lOB 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


tured all-embracing smile that might have be- 
longed to Mr. Spiers himself. 

Bobby was not in the cast at Surwood, but 
looked in on their rehearsals at times. In cold 
daylight his character was too retiring to shine, 
but here he was evidently his own man, and Ar- 
den was moved to an amused sympathy, having 
felt the same — with a difference.. But this was 
a chance and not to be shirked. He walked 
slowly past him, looking him coldly up and down, 
through his eyeglass. After all, what business 
has he to be here, the young ruffian, he asked 
himself, the bearing of his outer man bringing 
the frame of mind into accordance. 

But Bobby showed no resentment and no rec- 
ognition. Ill try him further, thought Paul, 
greatly encouraged. Whatever happens I can 
keep my end up against Bobby Vane. 

He turned and addressed him pleasantly from 
the painful rictus under his moustache. 

‘'Good evening — or should I say good morn- 
ing? Your name is Vane, is it not? I have met 
you with Mr. Arden, I think.'' 

Bobby looked blank, then friendly with a sud- 
den inner light, then blank again. However, he 


102 


The Cloak of Night 


set down his glass and grasped Arden’s hand. 

'"Knew you at once,” he said, ‘'but you are 
Arden, aren’t you ?” 

The other raised a supercilious brow and his 
glance passed for an infinitesimal moment to the 
empty tumbler. 

“My name is Beauclerk,” he said, mildly. 
Bobby was confused and abashed. 

“Of course,” he said, “you’re not Arden. Don’t 
know what made me think so. Yet I know your 
face. But as you say, you’re a pal of his. I re- 
member you — of course, perfectly well^ awfully 
well—” 

His assurances became rather inane, but they 
were honest enough, and Arden could read his 
ingenuous countenance like a contents bill. He 
had seen this acquaintance before, it said, knew 
that impertinent monocle and the slightly drawl- 
ing tones, but couldn’t separate Arden from his 
friend. Still he was a friend of Arden’s and he 
certainly knew him. It was good enough. And 
even before he had arrived at this vaguest of con- 
clusions, be was pressing Arden to have a drink. 
You and your friend, too, he felt inclined to say. 


103 


Helen of Troy, N. Y, 

though his bodily sight was still single, though 
wavering. 

But the officials were on them. ‘^Closing time, 
PLEASE !” roared the voices. 

''Just the splith of a second,’’ said Bobby, in- 
sinuatingly to the giant at his elbow. 

"None of it,” said the man, briefly, and they 
were constrained to move. 

"Never mind,” said Bobby, "let’s go and have 
a kidney.” 

"I fear it’s too late,” said Arden, "unless you 
know of — ” 

"You leave it all to me,” answered Bobby. 
"The night is yet young.” With which oracle 
Arden was obliged to be content, until Bobby, 
leading towards the Haymarket by devious ways, 
wheeled him sharply through a mean doorway 
propped some inches from closing point by the 
protruding nose of a small, stout Jew. 

Another Jew with a ribbed shirt-front sat with- 
in behind a table in the passage, and a baize-cov- 
ered board over his head with' criss-cross tapes 
stuck with notes and telegrams, and a long row 
of pegs beyond him hung with hats, coats and 


104 


The Cloak of Night 

cloaks, lent the hall a certain imitation of a club 
entrance. 

Vigorous response to stirring dance strains 
made the ceiling shake above them and a smell 
of grilled kidneys bore out Bobby Vane’s confi- 
dence that their procurement might safely be 
left to him. 

Other members were pressing in behind them, 
and followed by the short inquiry ''your friend, 
Mr. Vane?” Mr. Vane and his friend passed up 
the stairs through the festive reek of gaslight^ 
cigarette smoke, musk and mixed grill to the 
supper room set with small tables lighted each 
with a red shaded candle. Fit arrangement for 
a social club where friendship might warm to 
intimacy, nor Lamia meet the Sophist’s ^^jug- 
gling eye.” 

They sat them down, and Arden, propping his 
elbows on the table, caressed and pointed his 
moustache with infinite gentleness, and after a 
little, being encouraged by the strangeness of his 
surroundings, dropped the half of his slim dis- 
guise, the eyeglass, and not apprehensive of his 
companion, whose gaze indeed rested anywhere 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


but on him, relaxed the tension of the last half 
hour and took occasion to reconsider himself. 

Not only well intentioned, but positively well 
conducted, his steps had been turned homewards 
when this odd adventure had waylaid him, and 
he had been surprised into taking a hand in a 
business which had ended so tragically. He had 
embarked on it to assist in averting a quarrel; 
had been betrayed by the contrary event, and 
suddenly overwhelmed by the catastrophe which 
sent him a hunted creature through the streets of 
London, with a borrowed name and appearance, 
and only a haunting vision of a man’s writhen 
features and bloody shirt to tell him he was that 
Paul Arden who had sauntered, cool and deb- 
onair, into Arlington Street two hours since. 

He had left his club as clean living a young 
man as any in town, with a sister reliant on his 
good behaviour, the run of many reputable 
houses, and a smooth and open countenance. 

Tomorrow — today — ^he was proscribed; his 
home debarred him ; his sister would wait break- 
fast for him in vain ; his club would be watched ; 
his friends perverted and on the alert. He had 
but the clothes he sat in, and what sort of mo- 


io6 


The Cloak of Night 

rality would be found in a man who could affront 
the sunlight in his evening clothes? He would 
look like a croupier, and probably sink to the 
deeper levels of Soho. Beauclerk — the name 
would suit excellently. Anyone would guess he 
had stolen it. Lord Beauclerk. He would be ar- 
rested for a runaway valet at the sound of it. 
Well, he could drop that, but these were his last 
hours of repute. Truly the clothes were the man, 
for unless he could lie in bed from dawn to dusk, 
the day would see him shunned by the veriest 
scallywag. 

I have no choice, he reflected, looking around 
him, artistically pleased with the completeness of 
his downfall. I am forbidden the daylight — con- 
demned to a perpetual wedding garment; and 
when I leave my couch of an evening this will be 
my breakfast — yes, breakfast! 

He thought of the associations of the word, 
and sat before the smoking grill and whisky and 
soda with a fullness at his heart. 

Bobby’s return from a neighbouring table 
which he had been greatly enlivening and whence 
the revellers pursued him with shouts and invita- 
tion roused the reckless Beauclerk to shake off the 


107 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

careful Arden. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he 
might be in Pentonville. This was his Henkers- 
mahlzeit, as the poor Freiherr might have said — 
his last supper. Nunc vino! 

And if he had scruple to junket and carouse, 
why, like the Rev. Hopley Porter, he must do it 
on compulsion. 

Bobby flung himself into his seat with a whoop. 
His evening was just beginning, he announced. 
Arden, feeling his way round to an inquiry as to 
whether Bobby had seen any of the dress re- 
hearsals, said ‘'You live at Surwood, don't you?” 

“Yes,” said Bobby, “but I am in town this 
month. Army exams coming on y' know. Must 
keep one’s nose to the grindstone. Saw your 
friend Arden dov/n there some weeks ago 
though. Rather a conceited beast, isn’t he?” 

Mr. Beauclerk shifted uneasily in his chair. 

“Oh, I daresay you find him all right — ” 
Bobby thought he was apologising. “Seem’s 
to me I could make a better man out of chewed 
blotting paper. Don’t know how my sister can 
stand him. But I believe she’s rather soft on 
him ; I know when I said — ” 

This will never do, thought Arden hastily. He 

io8 


The Cloak of Night 

had vainly imagined immediately before his meet- 
ing with Bobby, that, for once in his life and per- 
haps alone among mankind, he could see himself 
as others saw him, but had not been prepared for 
such frightfully intimate revelations as these. 
Bobby’s unvarnished opinions might possibly 
seem wholesome in the light of future days, but 
he could not betray Miss Vane’s confidences from 
her brother’s careless keeping, and would have 
snatched at any diversion at this moment. Hap- 
pily, one came, and he drew Bobby’s attention to 
a purple-faced man in crumpled clothes reckoning 
the company from the doorway. 

Catching his eye, he advanced upon them slowly 
with an expression of forced joviality and rested 
his big coarse hands with knuckle-duster rings 
on the table. 

‘'And ’ow are you, Mr. Vane,” he said, while 
he looked at Arden. “What’s it to be? Am I 
a-going to stand you a bottle of fizz, or are you 
going to stand me one ?” 

Arden would have replied promptly that he 
would neither pay for it if drunk, nor drink it if 
paid for, but Bobby, pleased to be recognised by 
the management, called for champagne. Pop 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


went half-a-crown and bang went a guinea. Ar- 
den shrugged his shoulders but saw justice in the 
youth being fined a bottle for his free speaking, 
but when the proprietor moved on, seeking whom 
he could induce to crack bottles on the same terms 
for the good of the house, he expressed his opin- 
ion that it was a ^'rush.’' Bobby resented this as 
unhandsome. ^'You’re such a dashed depressing 
sort of chap,'’ he said, not without justice. After 
all, a bust was a bust. Bobby was enjoying him- 
self. He looked as smart as paint. He wore a 
buttonhole. His clean, vacant young face showed 
nothing but the joy of life. He was going through 
his ‘^classes au cafe de Madrid.” Night classes 
where the course instructs ingenuous youth in the 
manners acceptable to spheres beyond; divests 
him of foolish diffidence and unremunerative re- 
spect for the other sex; gives him that happy 
abandon and freedom of address which marks the 
real right sort and differentiates him from the 
young man of lesser educational advantage — who, 
left constitutionally unable to adopt the what-ho ! 
and pip-pip ! style of entry on social gatherings 
makes an unequal fight in circles where he is 
shunned by the brothers, bullied by the mothers, 


no 


The Cloak of Night 

and openly insulted by the daughters, and finally 
drifts among, and marries into, strata of pre-vic- 
torian dulness unemancipated from politeness, ifn- 
enlivened by license, undistinguished by scandal, 
and unrelieved by divorce. 

Bobby Vane was well determined that no such 
vista should open to him, and leaving the supper 
room announced that he was going ^‘to throw 
himself about a bit.” Towards two o’clock, hav- 
ing met with a rebuff at the hands of an instruct- 
ress in modern midnight conversation, and feel- 
ing like young Saint Kevin in the ballad, he sug- 
gested a move to the ''Stable” — ’cause it’s full of 
crocks,” he explained at a door where misogy- 
nists maintained a separate establishment, and the 
next period was passed in a large room blue with 
cigar-smoke where some celebrated comedians 
were being courted and treated by their admirers, 
some young soldiers loud of voice and laugh, 
some racing men out of employment, a journalist 
writing a play notice, and quantum suff. of hard- 
ened night birds, who revive with the gaslight, 
and wane with the same. Thence, indifferent to 
time, and indeed glad to prolong the night, and 
suiting himself to his various company with phi- 


III 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

losophy, Arden supported Bobby’s steps through 
sleeping by-streets — ''I don’t know your name, 
Sir,” said Bobby, with tipsy courtesy, ''but may I 
take your arm?” — or sped with him in night-fly- 
ing hansoms, to clubs whose reserve broke down 
as morning grew, and let in the stranger without 
ceremony. 

It was broad day before they parted. As Mr. 
Beauclerk grew in favour the more he heard to 
the disadvantage of Mr. Arden, and he did vi- 
carious reparation for the offences of that once 
self-sufficient gentleman. One bit of news he 
gathered and, though not very astonishing, he 
scarcely knew how to accept it. Bobby knew 
Raggleston. At a distance. And Raggleston also 
was in his bad books. Paul, scenting information, 
pressed for the grievance. At a dance, then, Rag- 
gleston had monopolised a young woman whom 
Bobby secretly admired. Confidential now, he 
spoke her name. She was the sister of that fel- 
low Arden. But worth a hundred of him, mind' 
you. Paul, shocked at the facility with which se- 
crets fell into the hands of Mr. Beauclerk, and 
unable to show the surprise necessary to obtain a 
re-affirmation, asked casually as he could, under 


II2 


The Cloak of Night 


cover of Raggleston and his doings, where was 
the dance? 

Grosvenor Place. A true bill, thought Arden. 
I remember Daisy going to a dance somewhere 
there with the Bletchleys in the Spring. I re- 
member her account of Bobby in the doorway; 
but she said nothing about any Raggleston. By 
Jove, my girl. I'll be even with you. ''A bad tem- 
pered brute, Raggleston,” Bobby was affirming. 
He had not been civil to Bobby. 

‘'Oh, he's a decent enough fellow, according to 
his lights,” said Arden, thinking he had better 
perhaps speak up for him in the circumstances. 

"Know nothing about his lights,” said Bobby. 
"I'm complaining of his liver.” 

"You're rather hard on your friends, Mr, 
Vane,” said Paul, as they stood on the pavement. 

"It's a bad world,” said Bobby, sententious- 
ly, "and the fewer people you praise the better.” 

Maintaining this dogged misanthropy, he was 
helped into a final cab, bestowing a penny upon 
the ragged cab-runner who pressed for remem- 
brance. "And don't make a beast of yourself 
with it,'’ he said severely. 

Paul found himself alone on the kerbstone in 


Helen of Troy^ N. Y. 


the growing sunlight. A hundred yards away a 
string of market-wagons, piled extravagantly 
high with greenstuff, occupied the thoroughfare 
and held the eye as on a country road. Their 
harness-brasses jingled and caught the yellow 
light, and the blind buildings in widening per- 
spective, threw back the gathering rumble of 
their advance. 

He was close to Covent Garden and turned 
idly eastward, yawning as he went and vacant of 
purpose. Flocks of pigeons were alert on their 
noisy wings. The perambulating coffee-stall 
wheeled briskly along the gutter ; and more than 
once he espied on side-streets some poor trunk 
of humanity, or cuUde-jatte, unhardened to his 
fate by the necessity of exhibiting himself for 
alms, go dragging along the bare pavement in 
the morning air, during its hour of unbreathed 
cleanness, before the town opened its eyes. 

And now he must find a bed, for he was dog- 
tired, leg-weary and heavy-eyed, and eternally 
conscious of that Nemesis at his heels. Where 
was that black-avised ruffian, Raggleston? And 
where the unhappily circumstanced Billinghurst? 
And how was it with the unfortunate Freiherr? 


The Cloak of Night 

— whom, somehow, he could only picture as he 
last saw him, lying on the path, his hand to his 
bosom. 

A plain fronted hotel with a night-lamp still 
burning, seemed to answer his necessity, and he 
rang the bell, leaning heavily against the door- 
post as he waited. A porter appeared and after a 
moment’s demur led him upstairs to a bedroom 
which looked oddly fresh at such an hour; here 
he left him and descended to open the house and 
start the business of the day. 


CHAPTER VII 


WHEN THE WINE IS OUT 


B arred from free entry to its railway 
stations how shorn of enjoyment 
would the London public be ! Rather 
its Parks, rather its public houses, 
rather, far rather, its museums, galleries, and 
libraries, than the great termini, where the idler 
may enjoy the strenuous life of others, where 
the houseless shelter, where the poor find life, 
colour, and movement, and many an unconsid- 
ered, or forgotten, trifle, where the busy may be 
busy to distraction, and the spectator sit all day on 
benches in the best position. Best substitute for 
the Cafe, where the unemployed may glance at 
the papers, watch the hurrying passers^ while 
away his time by free fires in the winter and in 
pool draughts in the summer, meet long lost 


When the Wine is Out 


friends, make new acquaintanceships or mar old 
ones by the turn of an answer to the interroga- 
tory traveller, see an occasional accident, or at 
poorest, a thousand mishaps and contretemps, and 
minor tragedies and comedies. 

No unit in the mass, from the station-master on 
his swift minatory passage to the telegraph-boy 
in cheerful voiced leisure; the slow porter mak- 
ing, sero sed serio, towards the whistling train 
and the agonised pilgrim, or the paper-boy, in- 
different, at home, and at rest, on an empty trolly, 
bears any seal of officialdom. He is labelled but 
not stamped. He is a man and a brother, and 
do you enlist or denounce him, it lies between 
you. No hard corner of a machine meets you 
which you hammer to your own hurt, or vainly 
oil. He is the individual and detached genius of 
the great rule of thumb whereby the makeshift 
and piecemeal agglomeration of a dozen great in- 
dustries and businesses for ever being drawn on, 
are wonderfully supplied, preserved and dealt 
round. 

The perturbed spirit of a Londoner seeks a rail- 
way station by instinct. With a friend he goes 
to a club. With his wife, to the shops. With his 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


children, to the Park. But by himself, to a sta- 
tion ; whence all corners of the earth are open to 
him ; whither come all men and all news. 

Jack Raggleston walked Victoria station be- 
tween twelve and one o’clock on the following 
day, vaguely relieved to have vacancy of purpose 
filled by the stopgap of bustle. He had slept none 
the worse for his misdeeds, and if he ran over the 
timetable rather indifferently it was not that his 
resolution had been staggered by the unhappy 
event of the duel, but merely that, the duel over, 
he wondered what he had fought for. 

As far as the quest was concerned, as Billing- 
hurst’s man had called it, it was plainly to him. 
He had won it by arbitration and by force of 
arms, both, and he was not the man to abandon 
his rights on a scruple, or to regret anything that 
Mr. Jack Raggleston had ever done. But 
whether to push his advantage or no he was of 
two minds. 

His spirit of contradiction had been roused by 
the German, but, the German eliminated, another 
face than Miss Heimer’s interposed, and eclipsed 
her darker attraction. He had known Miss Hei- 
mer well last year, and this summer he was to 


When the Wine is Out 


have joined her house party wherever she should 
establish herself. He had but to call to make sure 
of the invitation, and yet, while he might have 
hailed that invitation as a relief from his imme- 
diate position, to take the initiatory step on the 
path made clear for him seemed beyond his reso- 
lution and even outside his desires. 

Mr. Raggleston felt ''humped” and truth to 
tell, did not know what he wanted; and it was 
more than his deserts that, when he turned for 
the half-dozenth time, through the ticket-offices 
to the wet cab-filled station yard, a hansom 
should clatter up the paved way, and frame be- 
hind its rain-streaked glass the face of his medi- 
tations. The hump fell from his shoulders, which 
straightened magically, and the pretty face, too, 
smiled above the hansom doors in perhaps its 
first gleam of sunshine that morning, for anxiety 
marked it, as well as the momentary pleasure. 

"How do you do, Miss Arden,” cried Raggles- 
ton, as soon as the glass was pulled up. "Where 
are you going ? And may I go too ?” 

"Oh Mr. Raggleston, I am not sorry to see 
you,” cried the young lady. 

"But you are not enthusiastic about it.” 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

''1 mean that I am in trouble. My father is 
away and I can't find my brother anywhere. I 
fear that something dreadful has happened to 
him." 

The voice was eager and distressed. Raggles- 
ton saw that she was in genuine trouble, and Miss 
Heimer, his calculations, and his misdoings van- 
ished like smoke. He helped her out with solici- 
tude and walked slowly into the station with her, 
hearing her tale. 

'‘You don’t know my brother, do you?" she 
asked anxiously. Raggleston shook his head. 

'T wish you did," she sighed. "You might help 
me to find him." 

"I’ll find him for you," said Raggleston with 
ignorant confidence^ "but what has happened ?’’ 

Daisy told him about the theatricals, and re- 
counted Paul’s habitudes and excellencies, uncon- 
sciously discounting much of the character when 
she followed it up with the documentary evidence 
of a telegram received that morning. 

"I came down to breakfast and found that 
he was still away," she detailed tragically. Later 
on comes this telegram : "Detained by morning 
performance." 


120 


When the Wine is Out 


Raggleston read it gravely. He had written 
such himself. 

''And that is not the worst of it, Mr. Raggles- 
ton,” she paused in bright-eyed indignation. 
"Either Paul is intentionally misleading me, or 
there has been some incomprehensible mistake. 
I had a visit this morning — a most extraordinary 
account” — she stopped, looking ready to cry. 
"But I must know for myself. I am going down 
to Surwood to see whether he truly and really 
acts there this morning.” Raggleston looked at 
the telegram in his hand. It bore the Leicester 
Square stamp. She mustn’t go to Surwood, he 
thought. I wish she would tell me all about it. 
Daisy was already looking at the placarded time- 
tables. She had not raised her veil above her 
eyes, but he thought that they were reddened, 
and he was filled with pious anger and grief. 
"Wretched young brute,” he said to himself, 
"messing about the place with a sister like that 
to look after. Fll find him — and walk into his 
affections too.” Had it been his sister he thought. 
But the point was, in the historian’s view, that 
she was not his sister. He approached her with a 
determined sympathy. 


121 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

"'I wish you would tell me all that has hap- 
pened/’ he said simply. 

Daisy wanted no pressing. It seemed then, 
that just before she had set out, a certain Mr. 
West has been announced, and, after some pre- 
liminary words, had informed her that he was 
Lord Horsham’s private secretary. Raggleston 
started at this. 

‘'Do you know him?” asked Daisy hopefully. 

“I know who you mean,” answered Ruggles- 
ton, unhelpfully. 

She proceeded, “He told me the most extrava- 
gant story, Mr. Raggleston. He was very nice 
and kind and polite, but imagine my feelings 
when he said that he was making inquiries, on 
behalf of Lord Horsham, for my brother Paul, 
whose visiting card had been found on the body 
of some man discovered badly injured in one of 
the parks last night; and that trace of him had 
also been found in Lord Horsham’s town house 
where there had apparently been a quarrel. Oh ! 
Mr. Raggleston, why do you look so queer? 
Surely — surely you don’t think that Paul could 
have had anything to do with such a business? 


122 


When the Wine is Out 


Isn't Lord Horsham a dreadfully silly man? I 
have often heard my father abuse him." 

Raggleston had felt himself turn all the colours 
of the rainbow, and now stared gloomily on the 
ground trying to collect his wits. 

''Have you heard anything about it? Is there 
anything in the papers? But no, Mr. West said 
that nothing should be done without my know- 
ledge. But he said we must find my brother, 
and get at the truth. And we must. 
Do answer, Mr. Raggleston," she said im- 
patiently. 

Raggleston was not in the habit of weigh- 
ing pros and cons. A difficulty presented 
but one side to him, and on that he was 
given to act. Suddenly as Paul's identity and the 
widening effect of his own actions had been 
brought home to him he recognised that Paul 
could be in no real danger. Also that he was not 
to blame; that it was no good Daisy going to 
Surwood ; and last, but not least, that sorry as 
he was for her state of mind, number one must 
have a little consideration. A breathing space — 
say an hour or two. 

"I think your going to Surwood is of no use," 
123 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

he said, and he pointed out the defect of the 
telegram. ‘'It would only make people talk. He 
is evidently in town. I think he is in an awk- 
ward position, though perhaps quite innocent, 
and does not want to alarm you.” 

Daisy heard him gratefully. 

“Er — oddly enough, I happen to know Lord 
Horsham’s eldest son rather well, and if you will 
allow me to consult liim I may be able to tell 
you something about it.” 

“But surely Lord Horsham would have asked 
him,” said Daisy wonderingly. 

“Well, the fact is,” said Raggleston half apol- 
ogetically, “they are not always of one mind. In 
fact I believe Billinghurst is at this moment stay- 
ing with his aunt. Lady Theodosia Jayne, in Chel- 
sea. ril go and see him. He’ll know all — I mean 
he may have heard something about it.” 

“Can’t I see him, too ?” said the anxious sister. 

“Of course you can,” said Raggleston admir- 
ingly. “Let us have some lunch now, and go 
together to Chelsea afterwards.” 

Miss Arden looked upon him doubtingly and 
turned the proposal in her mind, but a diversio'n 


124 


When the Wine is Out 


was brought about before she could accede or 
refuse. 

Preceded by porters wheeling immense dress 
trunks under the supervision of a footman carry- 
ing a strap-load of novels and a covered dressing 
case; followed by two maids laden with dust 
cloaks, monogrammed cushions, en tout cas 
with gold tops in shining variety, bird cages, 
keys, and tickets ; and attended by an elderly com- 
panion bearing a small dog in her arms and lead- 
ing a frizzed poodle by a glittering chain, came 
a young woman on whose well developed form 
Bond Street and Dover Street, Fifth Avenue, 
and the Rue de la Paix had wreaked their best. 

The amateur of stations would have recognised 
in her one of the consolations of his day; the 
meditations of a man would have been converted 
into a softly whistled tune by her appearance on 
the scene; and any woman would have stopped 
talking to look at her. As Daisy did. Her very 
dark hair was trained upwards and outwards — we 
speak stammeringly and ignorantly — and there 
pinned, ondulated and lustred to a wonder under 
the — happily there is a word for this — the creation 
which crowned it. White suede gloves under 


I2S 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


ruffled wrists of lawn held a jewelled lorgnon 
secured to a jewelled chain outside the figure- 
long grey cloth coat; raising the glass she sur- 
veyed the scene and met Daisy’s impartial eyes. 
Raggleston saw that he was overlooked, and, 
interpreting the unmistakeable fixity of glance, 
turned to see the arrival for himself. 

Miss Arden was rightly served for her dis- 
traction. ''Miss Heimer !” exclaimed Raggleston. 

"Mr. Raggleston, I do declare !” exclaimed the 
apparition, mantling with smiles, and extending 
her white-gloved finger tips in the best humoured 
greeting. "That’s the advantage of a little coun- 
try. You spot your friends at once.” 

The eyes were humourous and intelligent, the 
face genial and warm-coloured, and if its red 
and white was chiefly in the lips and teeth, that 
red and white was so expressive that Miss Arden, 
though now in the background, lowered her point 
and almost smiled; so that, after the first greet- 
ings, Raggleston, seeing that Miss Heimer was 
evidently bent on a chat, was encouraged to make 
them known to one another. 

Miss Heimer loved meeting new people, and 
beamed quite affectionately. 


126 


When the Wine is Out 


^‘Delighted to make your acquaintance/’ she 
said, adding unnecessarily am from America. 
Troy in Noo York State is my little home. When 
I am over here^ Mr. Raggleston does not let me 
feel lonely. He is always ready — ” 

''To go anywhere and do anything,” said Daisy 
smiling. 

"That’s so,” assented Miss Heimer’s high ac- 
cents, and a wink trembled on one eyelid, but 
didn’t fall. 

"And you are off to the Isle of Wight?” said 
Raggleston, with a too ready interest. 

"You saw that in the paper! I don’t write 
him my movements. Miss Arden, though he’d 
like you to believe it.” 

Raggleston grinned rather painfully. 

"And how is Lord Billinghurst ?” 

"Oh, he’s salubrious, and pursuing his studies.” 

"Then I guess you haven’t been near him late- 
ly. But tell me, now do, Mr. Raggleston, have 
you come across a great friend of mine, Freiherr 
von Deggendorf, who is in England now? I 
know he has introductions to your friends in 
Arlington Street. A tall man, fair — ” 

"Yes, I know him,” said Raggleston wincing. 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

was to have met me here this morning ; in 
fact we were to travel down together’' (Oh, were 
you? thought Raggleston), ^'but he seems to have 
let me through, and Fve had no express from 
him. Have you seen him lately?” 

''I saw him last night,” said Raggleston, con- 
signing the smiling heiress for whom he had 
argued, fought, and fled by night; her retinue, 
her lap-dogs and her lorgnon, to the very deuce. 

‘'Oh, my! And did you see Julius last night! 
And he wasn’t sick?” 

“He was all right when I met him.” Perhaps 
he found it impossible to keep all accent off the 
word, or perhaps the other merely pursued her 
chaff about the deteriorating effect of his com- 
panionship; but she pushed the inquiry. 

“Was he all right when you left him, though?” 

Raggleston was in torment. His sins pursued 
him. They barred the courses of other people’s 
lives, and diverted them upon him. Everyone 
stumbled over that body in the path. Undiplo- 
matic and short-tempered, irritation seized him at 
being cornered in this manner^ and he replied 
with unpardonable shortness that if he knew any- 
thing more about Julius, might he be — forgiven. 

128 


When the Wine is Out 

"'My! Your liver is out of order, Mr. Raggles- 
ton/’ said Miss Heimer, surprised but not angry. 
"I had better proceed. Forgive me, Miss Arden, 
for keeping you standing here. I hope we shall 
see each other again.’' 

Miss Heimer and her following moved through 
the platform gates, a sheaf of illustrated papers 
added to her impedimenta, or, at least, to her 
companion’s. 

Daisy had pressed all her amiability into her 
au revoir to make amends for their friend’s in- 
comprehensible brusqueness, but, left alone with 
him, she withdrew its influence, angry at a rude- 
ness which seemed to involve her. They moved 
out of the station in silence, and Daisy hoped 
that he was ashamed of himself. Had she heard 
his unspoken comments as they went, she might 
indeed have thought less of his utterance. 

Without overt arrangement they made their 
way to some luncheon rooms in Victoria Street. 
He sat and watched her taking off her gloves, dis- 
dainful and admirable, and the necessity of mak- 
ing his peace overcame him. 

"Was I very rude?” he asked^ biting his lips. 


129 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


''You behaved like a savage/’ replied his vis-a- 
vis with the utmost severity. 

"I hate to be bottled like that/’ growled Rag- 
gleston. "What should I know about her Jul- 
ius?” 

"She would certainly have done well not to 
speak to you. But she will probably know bet- 
ter in future. I can only regret that I myself 
'bottled’ you so effectually, Mr. Raggleston.” 

He was sorry for himself then ; but when Miss 
Arden commented on the absurd and petty jeal- 
ousy that could not bear a civil inquiry after an- 
other friend, Raggleston rejected the insinuation 
with an energy of adjective that got him into 
further trouble. This could not continue. He 
climbed down, and made a crawling apology, but 
he was severely handled, and received such a lec- 
ture on manners, as had, unfortunately, seldom 
fallen on him before. He sat and took it, and, 
helped by a secret sense of wrong, made the most 
of by his customary single-minded attention to 
his own injuries, he gazed on the lecturer’s seri- 
ous grey eyes without resentment, and promised 
to mend. 

Perhaps that energetic denial had softened her 
130 


When the Wine is Out 


a little. The storm blew over. He sought to en- 
list her sympathy^ and said : 

‘T know I am rather a roughs but I have had 
a rough time.^’ 

*‘Why did you not stay in California? I won- 
der you left it since you have such a dislike for 
civilised life.” 

‘Terhaps I had better go back then,” said Rag- 
gleston, clouding over again. 

"T am sure you would like it better,” she said 
sweetly. 

Raggleston shrugged his shoulders, not to be 
beaten. ‘‘Any country is a good place if you hold 
the dollars, and any country is a pretty cold place 
if you’re broke. London is certainly a fool loca- 
tion for a poor man.” 

“I suppose you mean he is unwise to live here. 
But, Mr. Raggleston, you can’t have everything 
you want by asking for it.” 

“No, and yet I have known people to complain 
that they had to ask for everything they wanted. 
I suppose there is always something between you 
and your desires, if it’s only a bell handle.” 

Daisy smiled. “Daily dinner is the chief desid- 
eratum here below ; yet as a housekeeper I some- 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

times wonder which I most dislike, ordering it, 
eating it, or paying for it/’ 

Raggleston, his elbows squared on the table, sat 
and gazed attentively into the fresh delicate face 
and contained eyes, admiring the sense and sweet- 
ness of the expression. She took his gaze grave- 
ly, until the recollection of an elementary precept 
in the subject of her late address made him sit up 
hurriedly. 

''I was admiring that splendid institution, the 
British Housekeeper,” he said. 

‘‘She does her best,” said Daisy, preparing to 
go, “but even home-keeping people have their 
trials.” 

“Yes,” said Raggleston, following; “when I 
was at the front my father wrote to me ‘truly 
War is Hell, with the income tax at a shilling.’ 
I saw then what a soft time I was having.” 

“You have a keen sense of your wrongs, Mr. 
Raggleston,” said Daisy as they descended the 
stairs. “Do you never tread on anyone else’s 
corns ?” 

Raggleston was silent, but was careful at any 
rate not to tread on her dress. 

He had never quite lost that best possession of 


When the Wine is Out 


the schoolboy — the sense that responsibility for 
his crimes rests on the shoulders of the authori- 
ties. To him the Moral Law is an embodied 
thing. It wears a black coat and has a cane. His 
attitude towards it knows no reserve. It is the 
open enemy. Can he outrage it and escape, he 
goes to bed chuckling. In after years the enemy 
slowly disembodies and becomes his intimate, and 
in most cases, happily for society, his friend, but 
some there are who, like our acquaintance Rag- 
gleston, resent the forced companionship, and try 
to restore the ghost to the material form of the 
authority of the moment. Their employer must 
see that his time is not wasted. Do they evade 
an impost, let the Revenue look to it. Have they 
a headache in the morning, it is the quality of the 
wine. Do they escape scotfree from the liaison 
dangereuse, like the schoolboy they chuckle. It 
was high time that someone took Mr. Raggles- 
ton in hand. As they set out on their mission he 
was conscious of a thrill of gratitude that it had 
not been Arden whom he had left in the Park, and 
that he was able to join honestly in the search. 
Had it been Arden he thought, and he must meet 
Daisy’s grey eyes ! As it was he scarcely knew 


133 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


how to keep his confession from her when she 
turned them on him, so guilty his hang-dog con- 
science showed before them. Surely regenera- 
tion was working. 

Steep narrow steps led up to Lady Theodosia's 
pedimented doorway, the lower windows were 
barred with iron scrolls, and the brickwork was 
of invisible, or Chelsea, red. 

"'Hope to heaven she's out," said Raggleston, 
as he rang. "We don't want to see her." 

Daisy was only anxious about Paul, and hoped 
that someone might be in. A butler appeared and 
in answer to Daisy said that Lady Theodosia was 
out. 

"Good business," muttered Raggleston, and 
had opened his mouth to ask for Billinghurst, 
when a voice behind him exclaimed briskly, "No 
she isn't! She's just come back." A small stout 
lady was climbing the steps behind them, and, as 
Daisy turned, the butler added in a low voice: 
"Here is her Ladyship, Miss." 


134 


CHAPTER VIII 


A BLIND TRAIL 


A nd what’s the matter with you, Mr. 

Raggleston?” asked the lady of the 
house, pausing on the top step, 
her hands full of books and parcels. 
‘Tt’s a long time since you honoured me with a 
visit. No doubt you have something interesting 
to tell me.” 

With good humoured appreciation she looked 
at Daisy, who turned pink, and as for Raggleston, 
at this fresh misunderstanding his red face be- 
came plum colour. But to Daisy’s admiration, he 
cast himself into the imminent deadly breach. He 
introduced her. ‘‘Miss Arden is in distress about 
her brother,” he said, “and has come hoping to 
see Lord Billinghurst, who is, I believe, a friend 
of his. Am I right in thinking he is with you? 


I3S 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

I met Miss Arden near here and I offered to show 
her where you lived. I was sure she might count 
on your help, Lady Theo.” 

"'Why, certainly,” replied Lady Theodosia, dis- 
engaging a hand with some dexterity, and not in 
the least taken in. ""Come upstairs. If your 
brother is only a friend of Lord Billinghurst’s 
there may be hope for him, but if he’s a friend of 
Mr. Raggleston’s there is no saying.” 

She sent the butler to see if Lord Billinghurst 
was in the study^ and to bid him come upstairs to 
them, and Daisy gave her companion a glance 
intending rebuke for the strain he had put on 
their plain tale. He took it as a reproach to his 
reputation and was not moved to love for his 
hostess. But the meeting was not to be. Lord 
Billinghurst, as it afterwards transpired, hearing 
the front door bell, had departed by the back, 
through the garden entry. His aunt’s friends 
were not his, and had the Chelsea earth had no 
bolt-hole he would not have sought it so often. 

Lady Theodosia heard Miss Arden’s story with 
many impatient ""what’s,” for the good lady’s 
readiness to lead the conversation grew out of 

136 


A Blind Trail 


her slowness to follow it, for she was rather 
deaf to unaccustomed voices. 

Raggleston preserved a masterly silence. He 
had hoped to find his ally who could have shown 
the necessary sympathy without unnecessary ac- 
tion, but his aunt’s intervention threatened action 
without sympathy. Holding that Paul had been 
kidnapped as an awkward witness to a deed of 
violence, she showed more indignation at the out- 
rage than feeling for the victim. She would have 
enlisted any day under the Avenging rather than 
under the Ministering angel. Neither did she 
hesitate to put a name to the criminals. ^'The 
country is full of men brutalised by war,” she 
said, with a fighting eye on the retired yeoman, 
"'fresh from the massacre and glutted with the 
plunder, of unprepared and defenceless shepherds, 
whose sole property was their trusty rifles. 
Trained to violence and robbery they pursue their 
ends without regard to the laws of God and man. 
Wealth crosses their vision, and to follow it they 
do not stick at bloodshed. We must protect our- 
selves.” 

Raggleston began to feel pretty bad again, but 
Daisy, resting her peace-loving eyes on him. 


137 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


credited herself with the stilling of his patriotic 
resentment. 

Lady Theodosia, unable to get a rise out of 
him, and fired by the unforeseen word, protect, 
tried another gambit. 

At the moment, the many headed multitude 
sick and tired of a monotonous millennium, and a 
damnable iteration of surpluses, was tickled with 
a scheme for cutting the profits and letting the 
losses run. 

Chancellors of Exchequer were a three-a-penny 
and the papers teemed with letters from a sud- 
denly enlightened public demanding to know 
why the foreigner should be allowed to supply 
it with goods which it could make for itself for 
twice the money. 

‘'Protection is indeed the word,’’ cried Lady 
Theodosia. "For under protection there would 
be no such visions of wealth to distract the poor. 
How cheaply they live on the Continent! What 
makes their life cheap? Protection!” 

"Life’s pretty dear in America,” hazarded Rag- 
gleston. 

"Then how well off they must be to afford it !” 
she cried in triumph. "What makes them well 

138 


A Blind Trail 


off? Protection! My dear — she broke off, 
turning to Daisy again; you had better stay to 
tea, and come and hear my lecture at the Church 
Rooms, this evening. I can speak better than I 
can listen; but it enables me to turn a deaf ear 
to much foolish argument.*’ 

Daisy smiled and understood, but excused her- 
self on the ground of her anxiety. The inter- 
view had not been productive and she was im- 
patient to be off. 

‘^And what does your brother do when he is 
upon the scene? Nothing? That’s bad. What 
does your father say to that ? Has he no business 
to put him into?” 

Daisy, compliant, said that it was open to him 
to become a publisher. 

“A publican,” screamed Lady Theodosia. 

‘'A publisher !” roared Raggleston, annoyed. 

‘‘A publisher!” she cried, springing back into 
smiles, and more than smiles. '"What? Arden 
and Arden ? My dear, I must come and see you. 
Where do you live ? I must know the end of this 
mystery, and help you to find your brother. Ar- 
den and Arden ! I should like extremely to meet 
your father. I have a little brochure in hand 


139 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


now that — I am sorry you should have been 
disappointed in the object of your visit. My 
nephew has an extraordinary knack of never 
being on hand when I want him. But I will ask 
him about it. Arden and Arden! Well! well! I 
am very glad to have met you. Goodbye, Mr. 
Raggleston, and mind you do all you can for 
Miss Arden. But I needn’t tell him that,” she 
added, to herself as she thought. 

Raggleston was glad to get away. It was still 
raining though, and the flush doorways of the 
narrow street afforded no harbourage, and its 
seclusion promised no rescuing cab. They turned 
their backs on the broad shining embankment 
and the turbid river, appearing as one great waste 
of water, and plunged into the maze of mean 
streets leading to the Fulham Road. 

‘^Better than Lady Theo’s lecture, anyway,” 
said Raggleston, as they walked briskly through 
the puddles, "'though I grant you that might have 
been dryer.” 

They crossed the thoroughfare without coming 
on a cab, and, unwilling to wait, held on their 
course through Evelyn Gardens, but, the rain 
coming on more heavily, took shelter in the roomy 


140 


A Blind Trail 


porch of a corner house. Another refugee was 
before them, wiping the drops from his hat, and 
on joining him they recognised the ingenuous 
countenance of Mr. Bobby Vane frowning on the 
spotted lustre. 

'Tile off still, Bobby?” inquired Raggleston 
kindly, shaking out his umbrella, but it was 
Daisy's smiling eyes worked the havoc. 

Poor Bobby dropped his hat, swooped on it, 
dropped his stick, picked it up, put on his hat, 
took it off in salutation, and for a minute or more 
could not get his equanimity. To combine stiff- 
ness to Raggleston's familiarity and a smiling 
contempt for his chaff, with warmth to Daisy 
tempered by reproach for her company, taxed 
his bearing and over-taxed his powers of speech. 

"Why don't you ring the bell ?'' asked Raggles- 
ton, who thought the porch a nice size for two. 
"Don't pretend you're not calling here. He's 
a regular dog. Miss Arden. This is where his 
best girl lives, I expect.” 

"I am sure that Mr. Vane has no 'best girl' in 
view,” said Daisy, smiling on him, and Bobby 
shook his unready noddle. But Raggleston 
laughed loudly. 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


‘That disposes of you, Miss Arden,’" he said 
with effrontery. “I told you that she was on the 
other side of the door.” 

But Daisy smoothered the ruffled sensibilities, 
and talked of things indifferent, until Bobby, co- 
herent again, asked after Paul. Daisy became 
grave. 

“I’m rather anxious about Paul,” she said. 
“Have you seen him lately, Mr. Vane? Were 
you at Surwood this morning?” 

Bobby had not been at Surwood of late, but 
brightening at the chance of giving welcome in- 
formation, said “I saw a friend of his last night, 
a Mr. Beauclerk.” 

Daisy’s face had no answering light. Another 
friend of his whom I don’t know, she thought 
with a pang. 

“He said that your brother was a great friend 
of his,” pursued Bobby, rubbing it in. “You 
know him?” he said to Ragglest 

“Not I,” said Raggleston. 

“He said he knew you,” persisted Bobby, 
doubtingly. 

“Don’t know the name,” said Raggleston, 
“What did he look like?” 


142 


A Blind Trail 


Bobby described him. 

‘Td know no man with an eyeglass,” said Rag- 
gleston. must have been a champion liar 

too. Where did you meet him? How do you 
come across such people ?’ 

"'At the Criterion Restaurant,” said Bobby, 
with cold dignity, but rather hot about the ears. 
Daisy's gaze was fixed on him, but she was trying 
to resolve an impalpable and runaway likeness 
called up by Bobby's description. 

"He said he was a great friend of Paul's,” she 
repeated, quite at a loss. 

"He said so,” said Bobby^ sticking to his guns ; 
"I remember thinking that he was rather like 
your brother, except for — except that — ” And 
then Daisy saw it. 

‘"It was Paul,” she cried ; "Mr. Raggleston, it 
was Paul. It was his make-up. And that was 
the name.” She explained to Raggleston, and 
her words should have made it still clearer to 
Bobby, though why Arden should call himself 
Beauclerk and leave his appointed stage to harry 
him, Bobby, and betray his confidence seemed but 
one of the causeless perplexities of a nightmare 
where he groped horridly for certain half forgot- 


143 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

ten utterances and opinions and doings of his 
own. 

And now Raggleston took up the inquiry again, 
and pressed him pitilessly. Where had they gone 
when they left the Criterion? And then? And 
after ? And what had they done there ? 

In vain did Bobby endeavour to convey as from 
one man of the world to another, that these things 
might not be spoken of before Miss Arden. Rag- 
gleston put him through the examination as to 
character. What club? A supper club. What 
was that ? 

The Judicial ignorance must be satisfied, and 
Bobby grilled like the last night's kidneys. 

Did he take Beauclerk there or Beauclerk him ? 
^T told you he was a dog." This for the benefit 
of the court, who pitied the confusion of the 
witness, but supported the inquiry. 

And who else did they meet? And at what 
time did they part company? 

"'Well^ you look nice and fresh still, upon my 
word." And where did Beauclerk go? 

Bobby could not say, so the sister was dis- 
appointed in the end. And where did Bobby 
go? 


144 


A Blind Trail 


Bobby did not know whether to ring the bell 
after all and face a houseful of strangers, or to 
rush away into the cool of the downpour. But 
Daisy stopped the Inquisition. She was satisfied 
that Beauclerk was Paul, though dismayed at the 
Hyde-like development of that new shape. ''How 
can he be so foolish and so wicked?” she cried 
despairingly. "Why doesn’t he come home? If 
only I knew his address! Mr. Vane, don’t you 
think you could go to that — to those places again, 
tonight, or some of them, and see if you could 
find him ?” 

"Scandalous 1” shouted Raggleston. "This the 
ennobling influence of woman. Miss Arden, you 
astound me.” 

"Oh, do be quiet,” implored Daisy; "they will 
hear you in the house. And you must help, and 
not throw difficulties in the way.” 

"I will go with Bobby on his rounds/’ said 
Raggleston solemnly, "if it cost me my reputation. 
I will be his guest tonight.” 

"Dear Mr. Vane, please forgive us for asking 
so many questions, but if you come across my 
brother again you will tell him, will you not, that 
I want to see him at once ? And now there is a 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

cab at last. Do call it for I must get home. They 
will think I am lost too.’’ 

She was helped in with all devotion, the cab- 
man instructed, and the four-wheeler crawled 
away. 

Daisy hoped that the occupants of the porch 
might get away before it became too small to 
hold them. ^‘He is a dreadful person to deal 
with,” she acknowledged to herself with a smile 
and a sigh, and we fear that the useful and de- 
serving Bobby was soon out of mind. 

A spinster’s solitary tea was set in her own 
little room, and the big house seemed very still 
and depressing. The wet gardens showed not a 
cat or a sparrow to the tradesman’s boy rubbing 
his basket along the length of railing. The voices 
in the servants’ hall came up faintly with occa- 
sional bursts of jarring laughter, as she wandered 
restlessly up and down stairs. 

In her father’s room the blinds were drawn, 
and in the dun light accumulated circulars rose in 
ghostly piles on the desk, the wraiths of last 
month’s cigars lurked in the drooping curtains, 
and the pathos of the empty chair was as poign- 
,^nt as usual. 


A Blind Trail 

But the climax was to come. 

The post before dinner brought her a letter 
on which she fell eagerly, hoping to hear from 
Paul, but the writing destroyed the hope. The 
envelope was sealed largely with black wax. She 
opened it and read: 

MADAM:— 

Since my Secretary, Mr. West, waited on you 
this morning by my wish, to acquaint you with 
certain facts concerning Mr. Paul Arden, I grieve 
to say that I have received a most particular ac- 
count of the affair from a Mr. Beauclerk, who 
will be known to you as an old and intimate friend 
of your brothers; an account which leaves no 
doubt that Mr. Paul Arden was sufficiently rash 
and misguided to fight a duel with swords last 
night outside this house, thereby endangering 
the life of his opponent and putting himself in a 
most perilous position. It is most painful to me 
to communicate news of such distressing and 
shocking import, but I feel it my duty to warn 
you, in the unfortunate absence of Mr. Arden, 
who is, I hear, out of England, that every endea- 
vour must and will be made, if not to apprehend, 


147 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

to Und the delinquent. This information is con- 
sonant with my promise to keep you instructed, 
and I trust that you will use your best endeavours 
to bring the unhappy boy from his hiding-place, 
nor aid him in a concealment which must even- 
tually prove futile. Pray accept the assurance of 
my sympathy, and hold Mr, West at your com- 
mand should you desire advice or assistance, 

I cm. Madam, your obedient servant, 

Horsham. 

But for the blessed name of Beauclerk in this 
truly terrible letter it would be hard to surmise 
its effect on the abandoned sister. Mr. Beau- 
clerk, that ‘‘old and intimate friend’’ of her 
brother’s, cropping up again in the thick of this 
business, and now as a hostile witness, reduced 
her at first to a stony stupefaction. 

That Paul should be silly enough to go mas- 
querading in Bobby’s company through the mid- 
night hours, was possible. That he should have 
been mad and wicked enough to fight a duel was 
at least thinkable. But that he should continue 
his pantomime in the cold daylight to give evi- 

148 


A Blind Trail 


dence against himself — that reduced it to an ab- 
surdity. 

She had been wrong. Beauclerk was beyond 
possibility of doubt, a friend of his — a friend 
of whom he had been ashamed. A dangerous 
and bad friend who had led him into harm, and 
who had finally proved false and betrayed him. 
A scoundrel! 

And yet Paul? Who told her everything. 
Who was such a good brother. Who scarcely 
ever left her. Surely the theatricals were no 
invention. She scouted the notion — she was giv- 
ing way to foolish terror. The Vanes were well 
known to her, and only that afternoon she had 
seen Bobby and had spoken of the acting and of 
Paul’s part, and he had given confirmation. 

^'No! No!” she repeated passionately, ‘T know 
him through and through. He could not be so 
hateful as to have such a friendship. He could 
not be so sly as to keep it from me. Oh, why is 
father away? What am I to do?” 

She read and re-read the letter, and unable to 
upset the grave impression of Lord Horsham’s 
heavily inked words, and sick at heart, she post- 
poned dinner, ordered a hansom and set off for 


149 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

Horsham House. Her long drive was in vain. 
His lordship was at a ministerial dinner. Mr. 
West had left. She asked despairingly for Lord 
Billinghurst. His lordship was away from home. 
More than once she had been tempted to seek 
some relatives in Queen’s Gate, but her nature 
was not weak enough to care for mere sympathy, 
and unless help was the result she thought it 
better to keep counsel. 

As it was the secret had passed from her hands 
and it might yet be a reproach to her that she 
had not taken the hint to say nothing. Poor 
Daisy had a bad night, but morning brought one 
resolve and the courage to act on it. 

Jack Raggleston’s sturdy figure and confident 
bearing was always in the background of her 
resources and from hour to hour she felt more 
need of his cheering presence and short and ready 
methods. She would find him first thing and 
implore his help. 

Directly after breakfast she sent him a note and 
waited with a nervous fear of further disappoint- 
ment. But he did not fail her, and his red face 
was more welcome than the morning sun, now 
shining again on a drying world. 


A Blind Trail 


She sprang to meet him with shining eyes, and 
he, quite shocked to see her pale face, took both 
her hands in his. She withdrew them, ashamed 
of her impulsiveness, and they faced one another 
rather shyly, but Daisy thrust her letter upon 
him, exclaiming tremulously, ‘'I sent for you to 
read this, Mr. Raggleston ; I am at my wit’s end. 
Oh, I am in such trouble ; I fear Paul is a — a mur- 
derer” — and Daisy fairly wept, sitting down 
shaken with despairing sobs. 

Raggleston, beside himself at the spectacle, had 
nearly taken her in his arms, and stammered 
eager denial and encouragement. She dried her 
eyes hurriedly, and besought him to read the 
letter at once. 

Raggleston had postponed the evil moment 
time after time yesterday, but had carried through 
the interview with Bobby Vane with the reck- 
lessness of the hopelessly lost, and this morning 
he had come round foreseeing, if not prepared 
for, full confession, and gloomily doubtful of ab- 
solution in spite of the bracing effect his approach 
had had on Daisy. But Lord Horsham’s letter 
fairly petrified him. 

Having read it through he gazed at it speech- 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


lessly, then held it upside down and looked at it 
that way; picked up the envelope and studied 
that, and finally remarked pleasantly, handing it 
back, ''He writes a good fist, doesn't he?" 

Daisy looked at him as if she thought he was 
going mad. 

"I didn't depend on you for an opinion of 
Lord Horsham's handwriting, Mr. Raggleston," 
she said breathing fast. "This wretch, Beau- 
clerk, whom I was silly enough to identify with 
Paul, has plainly betrayed him, or has deceived 
Lord Horsham. If you have an opinion on that 
— or any advice or suggestion to offer — " 

Raggleston sat down heavily on a couch and 
took his head in his hands, and said nothing for 
at least a minute. 

Daisy, rigid, holding the letter in both hands, 
stood and beheld him. 

He looked up presently, away from Daisy, and 
said without emotion of any kind, "Lord Hors- 
ham is the biggest ass in Christendom, and I am 
the biggest brute." He went on steadily — 

"I know nothing of Beauclerk, though if he ex- 
ists he is a liar, as I told young Adair yesterday. 
But you were probably right in thinking that he 


152 


A Blind Trail 


is only your brother playing the fool. But if I 
hadn’t been a cad and a cowardly idiot, I could 
have relieved your mind yesterday about your 
brother. He is absolutely innocent of this busi- 
ness. He didn’t touch Von Deggendorf.” 

''Von Deggendorf !” cried Daisy. 

"Yes, Miss Heimer’s friend. You can guess 
why I cut up so rough when she asked about 
him.” 

"Then he was the man found injured in the 
Park. Oh, Mr. Raggleston, but how in the world 
do you know? And what has Paul to do with 
this?” 

"How your brother has come to be accused or 
even suspected I cannot imagine. Short of that, 
I know everything. None better.” 

The old black look settled on his burnt face, 
and he thrust his hands deep in his pockets, and 
walked to the window, turning his back on her. 

"It was I who fought with Von Deggendorf 
last night.” 

She gave a little gasp of horror and pity, and 
then ran to him and put her arm through his. 
"Oh, I am so sorry for you,” she cried. He 


153 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

turned quickly, and took her hands in a grasp 
she felt for some days afterwards. 

‘'I thought you would have fired me out of the 
house,” he said huskily. ‘'How can you have any 
sympathy for such a brute ?” 

"Tell me all about it,” she said. 

He told her the whole tale^ all that Paul had 
seen of it, and a good deal more, smiting his thick 
head more than once, and abusing himself in un- 
measured terms. 

But his vehemence was chiefly directed against 
any possible lingering belief in Daisy’s mind that 
affection for Miss Heimer could have been his 
motive, and she had hard work not to smile at 
his eagerness for a clear path rather than a clean 
record. Even now it was the hampering con- 
sequences rather than the wrongful acts that 
lent ardour to his self condemnation. 

She thought the moment inopportune for fur- 
ther admonition. She was too genuinely stirred 
and sorry. But her sense of justice was strong 
and she was sorry for Miss Heimer, too. 

"I must say you have begun your quest badly,” 
she exclaimed, thinking of the rebuff he had ad- 
ministered. He muttered something inaudible 


154 


A Blind Trail 

about the quest, and added more intelligibly that 
he never wished to set eyes on Miss Heimer 
again. 

‘'Don't you think that yours is a dog-in-the- 
manger policy ?" said she, “by hook or by crook — 
or other weapons — to deprive the poor thing of 
her admirers, and then — let her travel alone into 
the country?" 

“Alone?" said Raggleston, with sarcasm. 

“There was no Julius, no Lord Billinghurst, 
and when “maliciously" she had only you to 
fall back on — " 

“I stood from under, eh? Never mind," he 
said with a sudden animation. “Fll fit another 
string to her bow — at once." 

“Instead of playing Providence to Miss 
Heimer, you had better reflect how matters stand 
with yourself," advised Daisy. 

Her anxiety about Paul removed, she had more 
leisure to consider Raggleston's case, and need 
not reprove herself for his domination of her 
thoughts ; and yet she blushed to recognise it, and 
sought to end the interview. In the middle of a 
half-formed jobation for use on a future day, she 
sprang up and invited him to depart. 


155 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

‘‘But I owe you an invitation to lunch, so come 
back at one o’clock and we will form a plan of 
campaign. Don’t think that I am ‘firing you 
out,’ but I have a thousand things to do.” 

“And I have one,” said Raggleston, in high 
good humour again as she regretted to observe. 

“Are you sure that it is nothing foolish?” she 
asked. 

“The best thing a man could do,” he replied, 
beaming on her. 

Daisy’s mind misgave her, perhaps propheti- 
cally. But they went their respective ways, and 
Daisy, acting from a suggestion of Raggleston’s, 
ordered Paul’s things to be packed. When she 
came back towards lunch time, to her chagrin 
the portmanteau was already gone. It had been 
called for, though not by him, but there was a 
letter from the runagate. It ran: — 

MY DEAR DAISY:— 

Guided by your advice 

(“guided by my advice?” cried the sister) 
I have ceased to he a mere spectator of the motley 
scene, and have become cm actor, 

(“An actor,” she repeated faintly.) My life 


A Blind Trail 


is at present full of incident , and should accident 
he avoided^ we may yet hope to meet again. I 
recommend the hearer of this note to your kind 
reception. Lord Billinghurst is an amiable young 
man, capable of good manners when he thinks 
them desirable, and of an address perhaps even 
too insinuating to strangers. I have by him been 
introduced to a 'friend of yours, Mr. Raggleston. 

(^‘How did he know that?'’ exclaimed Daisy, 
in consternation. 'The wretch will turn the tables 
on me.") of whose manners I cannot speak so 
highly. 

(“You're a finicking ape," said Daisy decisive- 
ly), but who seems to have good fighting quali- 
ties, which should help him in these days of 
foreign competition; and a confidence which 
knows no denial. 

(No comment by the reader.) Should you 
have to do with a certain Lord Horsham, whose 
chief claims to forbearance are his paternity to 
Lord Billinghurst and his enlightened patronage 
of the drama, do not, without necessity, speak of 
your acquaintance with Mr. Beauclerk. You can 
hardly be said to know him, and you could not 
do justice to a young man whose development 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

and conduct under trying conditions have been 
a bright feature in my existence these many ar- 
duous hours, I am leaving town today. Lord 
Billinghurst will give you details. I will address 
you from my rural retreat. 

YOUR DEVOTED BROTHER. 

(And then there was a postscript.) 

More devoted than you wot of. Oh Daisy, 
you deceived! Think well of the deserving 
Beauclerk. 

This was not illuminating, but it was reassur- 
ing. She kissed the postscript for Paul, but 
when Raggleston came she had left the letter 
upstairs. But ^T am not to meet your friend 
Lord Billinghurst,’’ she cried laughingly, de- 
scending. 

‘‘He’s all right,” said Raggleston. ‘T have 
just telegraphed to him.” 

‘What?” she asked, “may I know?” 

He looked at her with the most earnest senti- 
ment. 

“Only that I resigned the Quest to him. 
That’s all.” 

“Luncheon, Miss,” said the butler. 

158 


CHAPTER IX 


SOCK OR BUSKIN 


I N the later hours of the morning we see 
break on the market-carts in St. Martin’s 
Fields, when Dawn returning on her silver 
wheels overtook Mr. Robert Vane’s wes- 
tering hansom, a young man of somewhat no- 
ticeable exterior issued from Long Acre upon 
Leicester Square and turned into the Post Office 
at the north-east corner. The long dark over- 
coat, fitted somewhat closely to the figure, and 
the deep band on the tall hat, gave confirmation 
to the mourning suggested by black trousers; 
but a note of incongruity lent by a pair of yellow 
washleather gloves and furthered by a big spot- 
ted silk tie pulled out voluminously from the 
neck and fluttering below the opening of the high 
cut coat, carried a suggestion of a person — per- 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

haps a personage — of foreign extraction. The 
moustache, too, turned up sharply at the ends, 
and the alert and somewhat defiant look in the 
eyes, one of them mounting a gold-rimmed glass, 
completed an impression less strange in Leicester 
Square than further West. The shadowy and 
shady figure of Roger la Honte would perhaps 
have crossed the vision on meeting him ; 
but a second glance would have been 
wasted, for the figure had entered the Post 
Office. The distinguished foreigner bent over 
the telegraph forms. ‘‘Miss Arden, 70 Colling- 
ham Gardens,” he wrote, and then paused and 
frowned and caressed his moustache for a con- 
siderable time. But the unfamiliar touch, or the 
inspection of his person as he looked downward, 
presently inspired him and he completed the mis- 
sive — “Unavoidably detained by morning per- 
formance. Am writing. Paul.” Strictly true, 
he said to himself, and as plausible as may be. 
He handed in his telegram and stepped out upon 
the street again and set his face towards Picca- 
dilly and Arlington Street. 

The day had turned grey and a slight drizzle 
had set in, altering the tones of the pavements, 

160 


Sock or Buskin 


though the roads were as yet scarcely affected. 
The cabmen on the rank were considering the 
question of mackintoshes, and the horses rested 
their nose-bags on the already shining cobbles, 
thoughtful of a disagreeable day's work. Paul 
had no umbrella, but he wore a coat, and the 
weather suited it. He was glad of the rain. 
When he had waked in the small, square, plainly 
furnished room of the hotel he had since vacated, 
to the hardness of its bed and the discomfort of 
his wraps, his first thought had been that he 
was in prison. His next, how to keep out of it. 
He had at once rejected his overnight notion of 
spending the daylight hours between the sheets. 
It would qualify him for an asylum, even if it 
saved him from a jail. He must be up and out. 
He must communicate with Daisy, if only for 
her sake ; and he wanted clothes. And money — 
if he was to live the raffish life he had foreseen. 
And he must positively see Lord Billinghurst, 
and hear his news. He had considered his im- 
mediate necessities and rung for tea and a hot 
bath and for the Boots who had given him early 
entrance, who had seemed a useful sort of man 
and was moreover already in his pay. Boots had 

i6i 


Helen of Troy^ N. Y. 

arrived first and been charged with a commission 
to the nearest hosier. On his return Paul had 
been ready for his purchases. It had struck him 
more than once in the mirrored saloons of Bob- 
by’s clubs that his moustache or its twist lent 
him a foreign look, and one reveller had ad- 
dressed him as '' Monseer He had not been slow 
to take the hint. The weak spot of his assump- 
tion was, that it drew attention rather than 
repelled it. His mask was a thin one, but then, 
much lay in the carriage. Had he been no actor 
by aptitude, taken no joy in his masquerade — had 
he not felt a Continental animus rising under 
his La Valliere foulard; a determined galalntry 
glaring through his glass on every woman; and 
an anglophobic bristle along his pursed mouth, 
the first acquaintance might have cried, ^'There 
goes Paul Arden in make-up !” But in his pride 
of port he even despised its adjuncts. ^'There 
go two men,” he cried to himself ; 'T take them 
at random — ^both of a build; clad in the eternal 
black cloth ; topped with the universal silk hat. 
One face is pierced for a briar pipe, and carries 
it, and there is an unrolled umbrella in the hand. 
The other face bears an amber cigarette tube 


Sock or Buskin 


and the hand is supported on a silver 
headed stick. Not more than that the difference. 
Yet one walks West, the other East. They fit 
in different worlds. Of these English’’ (he had 
almost said Anglais) half goes with shaven 
cheeks and chin and a double tuft of h''ir on 
the upper lip ; and an increasing moiety L -ks on 
the other through glass. I have but con- 
formed. These things can neither give disguise 
nor help recognition. Where all men are spec- 
tacled and bearded the eye of acquaintance looks 
deeper. Let me feel the part and I may defy the 
detective.” 

As he entered Jermyn Street he vented an ex- 
perimental ^'sacreT on a fishmonger’s boy, who, 
his attention on a dog fight, presented his tray 
for unnecessarily close inspection. 

Whatever the appearance of the stranger 
frowning on him through his eyeglass, the boy 
had no doubt about the universal application of 
the English tongue, and in no uncertain accent 
threatened to break every pane of glass in his 
face. Mr. Beauclerk dropped his end of the 
altercation and walked on flourishing his cane, 
but he reflected as he went on the incomplete 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

civilisation which permits the survival of bar- 
baric pleasantries on one form of bodily infirmity, 
while forbidding them on others. 

No doubt the tradesman's boy would have de- 
livered some equally paralysing thrust at any 
wooden-legged or scorbutic street goer whose 
evil star had led him against the tray. But 
whereas the fishmonger's clients would hold it 
in bad taste to chaff an acquaintance on a mal- 
formation, and would probably refrain from com- 
ment on other blemishes^ the myope, child and 
man, is fair game. Something of the ill repute 
of the hunchback clings to him, whose sidelong 
glance is imputed to malice. 

The contained vision of the shortsighted 
brings accusation of conceit, moroseness and self- 
centred narrowness. The soul looks out of the 
windows of its house, and Nature, that erratic 
workman, has scamped those essentials, and they 
give on to fog and distortion instead of that fair 
prospect of earth and sky, the ^'ancient lights" 
of the dwelling. The glazed eye which takes 
the last dear impression, ere the owner expires 
under the fiat of the romancer, purges the emo- 
tions with pity. But the framed and glazed eye ! 

164 


Sock or Buskin 


Be it moved with whatsoever emotion, it raises 
but one in the breast of the spectator. 

Mr. Beauclerk breathed on his insulted mono- 
cle, polished it, cocked it, and crossed St. James’s 
Street and re-trod the familiar flagstones leading 
to Horsham House. He crossed the court-yard, 
ascended the steps, rang the bell and asked for 
Lord Billinghurst. The footman was doubtful. 
He thought his lordship was out, but would in- 
quire. What name ? 

''Mr. Beauclerk,” said Paul, and, seeing the 
meeting in his mind’s eye, had an inward smile. 
It was premature. He was shown across the 
shrouded hall, which looked no cheerfuller in 
the daytime, and into the library, which, on the 
contrary, looked pleasant enough in the morning 
light, with its three long windows on the Green 
Park. 

Left to himself, he looked round him curiously ; 
appraised the rows of mellow bindings, met Lord 
Chatham’s marble frown, and strolling down the 
room saw at once, above the fireplace, the old- 
fashioned silver mounted "epees” he had carried 
under his coat the night before. The white arm 
had favoured the fortunes of Raggleston, and 


Helen of Troy^ N. Y. 

his blade was restored to its supports, but its 
pair, which had lost a third of its steel, had 
proved too short to extend across the nails and 
had been laid hastily upon the chimneypiece. He 
must have Billinghurst’s account of the flight 
through the house and of the homecoming of 
the Marquis. 

The room was very quiet. 

He heard no sounds about the house. The 
gilt clock ticked somewhat solemnly, and his 
heel cracked loudly on the parquet, edging the 
book-presses, when he stepped off the carpet. 

He was beginning to feel the effects of the 
last twelve hours in a slight feverishness and a 
tension of the nerves. He had had but little 
sleep, and the subsiding unrest after the storm 
of incident inclined him presently to sink into 
an armchair by the hearth, where a small fire 
made a flicker of protest against the grey day. 

He took up a novel from a work-table at his 
elbow and opened it idly. He looked at the name 
of the authoress, then laid it down and picked up 
a book lying by it. On the flyleaf of this was 
written "‘Maud Sefton,’' and a date. 

The name took his imagination, and he re- 

166 


Sock or Buskin 


peated it to himself sleepily, harking at the same 
time after the name of the heiress, which had 
escaped him. Though he put down the book 
and closed his eyes he saw ‘'Maud Sefton^’ be- 
fore them. The stillness of the room was a low- 
roaring vacuum in his ears. The cinder falling 
from the grate fell with a crash on his jarred 
sensories. Dark flashes of unconsciousness, 
winks of sleep, descended on him and withdrew 
with the lightning rapidity of a nicitating mem- 
brane. His head fell forward. Then a door 
banged without, and he came to his feet at a 
bound. A heavy step was crossing the hall. 

He ran his hand rapidly over his tie and his 
face. “Pray Heaven it isn’t the Marquis,” he 
thought, with a sudden fear. Ill luck is always 
ready to take a suggestion, confounded jade that 
she is. The door opened and Lord Horsham 
appeared. 

Paul bowed and for a moment felt worse than 
he had felt yet. The Marquis seemed more an- 
noyed than surprised, but paused perceptibly with 
a raised eyebrow before he shut the door behind 
him. Paul felt that he was in the presence of 
a man capable of taking his measure^ and his 

167 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

polite apology had^ he was conscious, a nervous 
inflection. He had called to see Lord Billing- 
hurst. 

The Marquis looked at him once and looked at 
him twice, but showed no trace of his conclusion 
— if he had arrived at one. 

'T see,” he said briefly. Then, more pleasantly, 
'^And what is your name?” 

''My name is Beauclerk,” replied Paul intrep- 
idly. 

"Are you one of what’shisname's family, then ? 
St. Albans’?” 

"We are the French branch,” said Paul, feel- 
ing rather faint, and acknowledging too late, the 
wisdom of the late Major Pendennis’s advice to 
young men, to study the Peerage. 

"Didn’t know there was one,” said his 
lordship, crossing to his desk. "Sit down, Mr. 
Beauclerk. Though I don’t think you’ll see my 
son this morning. I can’t set eyes on him. But 
I dare say you know his movements better than 
I do.” 

Paul did not sit down, but stood ready for in- 
stant flight on the return of the footman. Lord 
Horsham sat himself in his desk-chair and looked 


i68 


Sock or Buskin 


over his papers; a hard-featured man, shaven 
and cropped, with a sarcastic lip. He took up a 
pair of gold spectacles off the blotter, put them 
on, pulled them off again, and wheeled round on 
the visitor. 

‘'Are you a friend of Billinghursfs — of my 
son’s ?” 

“An acquaintance,” corrected Paul. 

“May I ask when you saw him last?” 

Paul knew that he must keep his head and 
show no symptoms of prevarication. “Last 
night,” he said readily, and with great show of 
exactness, “at half past eleven I met him in the 
street.” 

“And was he alone ?” 

He had been alone. 

“And was he going home ?” 

He had his back to home,” said Paul cau- 
tiously. 

The Marquis appeared at a loss. “You are 
sure it was so late?” 

Paul was sure. Lord Horsham sat and 
frowned, looking hard at Paul, who dangled his 
eyeglass and preserved a courteous deference. 

“Mr. Beauclerk, you will wonder why I put 

169 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

these questions. I will tell you, but please let 
it go no further.” 

Paul murmured his assurances. 

‘Tray sit down.” 

Paul sat down and gave a sympathetic atten- 
tion, cursing the footman in his heart. ‘ 

“I happened to come home last night across 
the Park” — he waved his hand towards the win- 
dow — ^‘by a path I sometimes take after a late 
sitting, when I can find anyone to open the gate 
— and to my horror I came upon a gentleman 
known to me, a certain Freiherr von Deggendorf, 
a young German, lying on the grass badly in- 
jured. Some scoundrels made off at our ap- 
proach — an inspector was with me — and one of 
them — impudent scoundrel!” cried the Marquis, 
smiting his fist on the arm of his chair^ ‘‘who 
waved his hat to me as he ran — I nearly caught 
— ” (“Oh, come,” thought Paul) — 

“But he got clear off. They all did — ” 

“Tut, tut,” said Mr. Beauclerk. 

“We took the poor lad to the Embassy — ” 

“I should have advised St. George’s Hospital,” 
said Mr. Beauclerk. 

The Marquis looked angry. He had not asked 
170 


Sock or Buskin 


for advice — ‘ Vhere he lies in a critical condition/’ 
he continued in a louder voice — ''I come home 
to find the house shut in spite of my orders — ^not 
that that need concern us now — but these win- 
dows open. Fortunately, you may say. But ex- 
traordinarily. And this morning I find” — he 
rose from his chair and walked down the room — 
"‘this broken foil.” He held it up. “I smell mis- 
chief, Mr. Beauclerk. There has been some stu- 
pid, dangerous tomfoolery. My son left home 
early this morning — ” 

Mr. Beauclerk was genuinely astonished — 
“with a bag.” 

And genuinely concerned. How to find him? 
— “As the footman would have told you if he 
hadn’t been a confounded idiot.” 

Mr. Beauclerk showed a genuine con- 
currence — “But it has given me the chance of 
speaking to you, which I don’t regret — for per- 
haps you may be able to make my son listen to 
reason ; young people, Mr. Beauclerk, will listen 
to anyone sooner than to their parents. Von 
Deggendorf won’t open his mouth — or can’t. But 
we have one piece of evidence.” 

Now for it, thought Paul, and braced himself. 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

'They found a card on the unfortunate fellow 
when he was undressed ; and not only that — ” 

At this moment there was an interruption. A 
caller who could not be denied. Lord Horsham 
left the room, begging Mr. Beauclerk to excuse 
him and await his return, for he had yet some- 
thing to say. 

The footman remained to explain that Lord 
Billinghurst had left the house even as the Mar- 
quis had said. 

"You don’t know his address by any chance?” 
asked Paul, 

The footman looked at him shrewdly. For a 
moment each dropped his mask. 

"I might be able to get a note to him, sir,” he 
said. An understanding was created without 
more words. The man took a sheet of paper 
from the Marquis’s desk, and Paul wrote "Meet 
me tonight” — there was no time for planning 
anything — "at the Cafe Royal — The Man in the 
street.” Valuable consideration passed, and the 
simple contract over, the footman vanished 
ghostlike. 

Paul found himself repeating the last words 
of the Marquis before he had been cut short in 


172 


Sock or Buskin 


his speech, "'And not only that — ’’ What then? 
The Freiherr was staunch, like a good man and 
true. He had said so. What then? Nothing 
that concerned himself surely. 

Had he left other trace — that nefarious mid- 
night Arden, now no more, who had helped to 
murder a man, and mocked a Minister of State 
who sought to interpose? 

And then his remembrance was sharply jogged, 
and even as he clutched at his breast pocket he 
saw his own pocketbook lying on the top of the 
desk. 

He snatched it up and made conviction cer- 
tainty. No doubt when he had given the Ger- 
man his card the night before, he had left the 
case on the table. There was no great harm 
done, though, for there was nothing in it but 
some more cards, and a scribble from Molly Vane, 
giving the hour for a rehearsal. Still, it con- 
nected him with the house. There was the rub. 
The man Arden whose card was on the body 
had, plainly, been in Horsham House, and so 
probably, had the Freiherr ; and naturally Billing- 
hurst, too, for someone must have received them. 
Twas ever thus, he reflected, much cast down. 


173 


Helen of Troy, N, Y. 

One long rope walk from the crime to the gallows. 
One twists the cord all the way. He searched 
the case for further evidence, but he had found 
enough. He had Molly’s note in his hand when 
the door opened again, and the Marquis was 
back. Paul looked up. 

The cold hand of Fate took him by the nape. 
He had made another false step, and was half 
way down the rope-walk already. What was 
Beauclerk doing with Arden’s property in his 
hand ? Should he pocket it or put it down ? 

Lord Horsham’s eye fixed it; turned to his 
desk; came back to the letter-case; then held 
Paul’s. His mouth was wreathed with unpleas- 
antness and an ominous silence fell. 

^Ts your name Arden?” inquired his lordship 
with smooth irony. 

He doesn’t suspect that it is, thought Paul, 
and took breath. ''Mr. Arden — I must confess 
it — is a great friend of mine,” he said hardily. 

"Does he allow you to read his letters ?” asked 
his Lordship, eye on the note. 

Paul said nothing, for he had nothing to say. 
Silence fell again. 

"I can allow no one to take a document from 


174 


Sock or Buskin 


my desk. Mr. Beauclerk, you make me regret 
my confidence.’’ 

He gave each word its weighty and his hearer 
was terribly gravelled. 

''I tell you plainly, I do not admire your pre- 
sentment of yourself. You say you are French, 
and your dress bears you out — remarkably.” He 
dwelt on it. ''Yet your English is as good as 
mine. You hear my story with a show of sur- 
prise and sympathy, yet you now own yourself 
hand in glove with a man whom we have reason 
to believe a felon. You claim kinship with a good 
family. How shall I reconcile your claim with 
your action?” 

He looked at the case, then held out his hand 
for it, and the owner yielded it up. But not in 
abasement of spirit. He was seething with rage 
against the unmerited ignominy heaped upon 
him, but the reproaches had their reflex effect. 
Why scruple to romance when you are regarded 
as a liar of magnitude? His mind began to 
work like a mill. He would not be held an im- 
postor for nothing. He refused with set teeth 
to be first trapped, and then bullied into confes- 
sion. A nice figure he would make, stripped 


175 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

and turned inside out — he, Paul Arden. By the 
Lord, never ! 

must press you for an answer,” the Mar- 
quis was saying. Paul’s invention was working 
at full pressure. 

don’t want to threaten.” He waited for an 
explanation, but it was not quite ready. He put 
his hand on the bell. 

'‘I fear I am wasting your time, Mr. Beau- 
clerk,” he said grimly. 

Mr. Beauclerk started from his reflections, 
took his hand from his chin, and put his hat 
down on the table like a man who had come to 
a decision. 

'"My lord,” he said, '^your suspicions are nat- 
ural. And even just. I do not think that I have 
so far verbally deceived you, but I have un- 
doubtedly been acting a part.” Lord Horsham 
took his hand from the bell and his face had 
something approaching a smile. "‘You have 
drawn from this unfortunate incident an infer- 
ence I cannot endure. For, in a word, it was a 
communication from my unhappy friend Paul 
Arden — an urgent communication — that brought 

176 


Sock or Buskin 


me here this morning in search of that very case 
you held in your hand/’ 

'"Ha!” said the Marquis. 

"‘My instructions were to recover the case, or 
at worst to see that it contained nothing com- 
promising. I may tell you this without prejudice 
to his interests, for I find nothing in it of con- 
sequence. Unless someone has been beforehand 
with me — 

“Let me hear this story fully,” said the Mar- 
quis, not to be drawn; and the impenitent pro- 
prietor was secretly entertained. “And who is 
this Arden, and what is his pocketbook doing 
here?” 

“Lord Horsham, just now you regretted your 
confidence in me. I will show full confidence in 
you.” 

Lord Horsham thrust out his lip. Rather 
rudely, Paul thought. But he continued: 

“Paul Arden I have known all my life. Orig- 
inally a young man of good abilities and — and 
appearance, a good home and a sister who had 
an excellent and restraining influence on him, 
he fell a prey to idleness. The root of all evil, 
as we are told. A habit of recklessness brought 


177 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


him among violent and unprincipled companions 
— whose station in life was higher than his own. 
But it were vain to look to such for guidance — '' 
Mr. Beauclerk looked more sad than severe, but 
Lord Horsham cleared his throat rather ner- 
vously — ''and last night’s work has sent him an 
outcast and disguised felon from the haunts of 
his childhood into scenes and places I tremble 
to picture.” 

The Marquis looked at the clock. This is a 
very intolerable young man, he thought, but I 
had better let him tell his story in his own way. 
If I can get at the truth I shall not think it 
wasted time. Aloud he said: 

"I wish my son could hear your moving re- 
cital, Sir.” 

"I wish he could,” replied Mr. Beauclerk with 
unction. "It should be a lesson to any young 
man. It will always be one to me.” He pursued : 
"Last night a quarrel arose over the winecup — 
in your house.” 

"I knew it,” said the Marquis triumphantly. 

"This Arden and the unfortunate gentleman 
you describe as lying at his Embassy in a critical 
state — I think it would have been wiser to take 


Sock or Buskin 


him to the hospital — had high words. Arden, 
like myself, had lived much abroad, and was in 
sympathy with the punctilious code of honour 
now extinct in England. Your swords were 
only too handy — ’’ and he spread his palms. 

'^And my son permitted this?’’ 

"Xord Billinghurst behaved well. Fresh from 
the courts, he advised that the jus gladii was in 
the hands of the Law, and that a duel implied 
malitia praecogitata or malice prepense — ” 

‘'Well, well. Never mind him,” said the par- 
ent impatiently. 

“The duel was fought in the Park. The trees 
screened from observation, the silent turf dead- 
ened—” 

“Spare me the scenery, Mr. Beauclerk,” cried 
the Marquis in irritation. “What happened ? 
What is this broken sword?” 

Mr. Beauclerk proceeded coldly, his imagina- 
tion flying off at a tangent after the flying point : 
“At the first encounter Arden’s sword snapped. 
Snatching up the point, and wrapping his hand 
in his handkerchief — he was ever a theatre-goer,” 
said Mr. Beauclerk in parentheses, forestalling 
an objection — “he professed himself ready to 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

fight on. He was always full of a fiery gallantry, 
ce cher Paul — ” 

*‘You are poetical, Sir, but this is a matter for 
the Police Gazette.’’ 

know it, I know it.” He paused, mournful. 
''At the next encounter he dashed aside his op- 
ponent’s guard and plunged his point into his 
breast. He fell. You came. And Arden, you 
say, mocked you as he ran. Alas ! So gallant and 
gay! Gallant and gay!” Mr. Beauclerk buried 
his face in his hands. 

In amazed rage the Marquis sat and waited. 
Perhaps the emotion was natural. If real .^ 

"And what was it all about?” he asked. 

Mr. Beauclerk sat up. "A woman,” he said 
wearily. "Though I know nothing of her but 
her name.” 

"And that was?” 

"Maud Sefton.” And how the name came 
into his head the romancer had no notion. It 
belonged to no one he knew. Mr. Beauclerk sat 
gazing darkly on the immediate past, in the 
droop of profound dejection. When he looked 
at his inquisitor again he was surprised to see 
the change in his face. It was flushed with 


i8o 


Sock or Buskin 


anger, and his lips worked as if he thought ver- 
bally — perhaps addressing vigorous remonstrance 
to Mr. Arden or Lord Billinghurst. He looked 
sternly on his visitor, but his severity was di- 
verted from him. 

‘^And how did you learn all this, Mr. Beau- 
clerk?’’ 

'Trom Paul Arden.” 

'‘You have seen him since? You know where 
he is?” 

“Last night, after midnight, he was with me, 
and I knew all. Half an hour later he disap- 
peared. My Lord, I can assure you that if you 
left this room now you would search London for 
him in vain.” 

“Gone abroad, hey ?” 

“Naturally the German cannot speak. A lady’s 
name is involved. He would feel that he has half 
the blame to bear, and probably fears to bring 
trouble on your house.” 

The Marquis rose and turned his back, looking 
over his desk, and Mr. Beauclerk held his shoul- 
ders slightly raised until he faced round again. 

“This has been a curious and unexpected in- 
terview for me, Mr. Beauclerk. I am grateful 


i8i 


Helen of Troy, N, Y. 

for the information I have obtained from you. 
Here is your friend's pocketbook, but if you take 
my advice you will hold your tongue about the 
whole matter. For remember — " severely and 
impressively — ^4f this young man dies the issue 
will be grave. You will leave me your ad- 
dress." 

Mr. Beauclerk wrote down an address of the 
best, picked up his hat, pressed the Marquis's 
proffered hand, and made his exit in good style 
in spite of an inward conviction that the sooner 
Mr. Beauclerk followed Paul Arden into the 
Ewigkeit, the better. 

Lord Horsham, left alone, stood in his library 
in thought. ‘'A most extraordinary youth, that," 
he said to himself. ''And yet he wore his eye- 
glass like a gentleman^ as D'Israeli said of some 
o‘ne." Arrears of business and morning mes- 
sengers recalled him to public affairs. 


182 


CHAPTER X 


AN UNDERSTUDY 


P AUL saw a good deal of London that 
afternoon. He fled East and roamed 
the Strand, easier among the more va- 
riegated crowd ; explored the paved 
courts and followed the footways of the lawyers, 
under dark arches and into quiet gardens, and 
sat on secluded seats that never rested them. 
The grubby windows of the law-stationers and 
wigmakers appealed to him, a foreigner, in 
Dickens-land. 

Up the muddy gut of Chancery Lane, along 
teeming Holborn or dreary Gray’s Inn Road, pur- 
poseless, but interested, in philosophic detach- 
ment of mind from past or future, he flattened 
his nose against the windows of the instrument- 
makers, the machinists, the scientific-toy mer- 

183 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

chants, collectors’ jumble shops and second hand 
book stores with the magpie avidity of the ama- 
teur whose interests have never been thinned out, 
but choke each other in a mass of weedy growth ; 
for whom the world always remains a toy-shop 
and never becomes a work-shop, and to whom 
the workman’s tools are attractive shining things 
though their very uses are unknown. 

He lingered absorbed outside the booksellers, 
searching the close-packed ranks of rubbed and 
worn backs behind the steamed glass, or lifting 
the spread coverings took up volume after vol- 
ume from exposed and unassorted piles, dab- 
bling eagerly in the shallows of a dozen seas of 
knowledge. 

Wet with the persistent drizzle, he made his 
way back to the picture galleries and plunged 
into the study of Dutch and Italian schools. Half 
a mile of masters made him a surfeit. Not un- 
derstood is not assimilated and he soon got indi- 
gestion. 

He dropped onto a circular divan with a short 
padded pillar rising from its centre. The per- 
verse properties of this really astonishing piece 
of furniture are well exhibited on wet days when 

184 


An Understudy 

the galleries are in general use. It has been sup- 
posed that the ingenious author of 'Tlatland’’ 
found it in vogue amongst the wedge-shaped 
inhabitants of the Plane; that he furnished the 
simple ground-plan from which an elevation was 
made by the architect of the National gallery, and 
that so a seat was constructed that provides sit- 
ting room for a dozen and back-rest for four. 
Humanity, unable to accommodate itself round 
the core, like the clustering quarters of an orange, 
fights endlessly on the verge. Overlapping 
neighbours, constrained by the natural forces at 
play, ousted him at length, and he tried a differ- 
ent couch. A rapt and angular lady, focussing a 
high-set picture, backed onto his feet and sat 
down on him abruptly. 

He retired in dudgeon and sought the smoking 
room of a quiet hotel, and here, in a broken- 
springed armchair, in the mirk and stuffiness 
strained through filtering yvire-gauze, black with 
smuts and humming with flies, he soon touthed 
the Nadir of existence. 

He contemplated a life on such terms. For ever 
arriving and departing, the tenant from night to 
night of a single room, one’s luggage one’s sole 

185 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

earthly tie. Flattered to be spoken to by name, 
proud of a week’s superiority of tenure over 
newcomers, clinging to small privileges — the ta- 
ble in the corner, one’s umbrella in the man- 
ager’s office. Reading the publications spread 
by unknown hands in hotel sitting rooms. ‘The 
Railway Journal,” “The Guide to Health,” “The 
Hot Springs of Milwaukee,” “The Innkeeper’s 
Intelligencer,” and the “Continental Bradshaw.” 
Fitful converse with the floating population, the 
driftweed of society. 

“If this young man dies the issue will be 
grave.” I wonder how Raggleston feels, he 
mused. I’ve been devilish good to Raggleston. 
He thought of Daisy, and wondered if Bobby 
Vane had blundered on a truth. Poor Bobby. 
He had his troubles, too, then. Anyway, he re- 
solved, I shall tell Daisy it was all for her sake. 
But no more of this romancing. No more, no 
more of that. 

Ht slid into an uneasy slumber at last, and his 
dual personality played havoc through his 
dreams, and kept his half stilled faculties on the 
go until he awoke wholly, and found the street 
lamp outside lighting the yellowed wall of the 


i86 


An Understudy 

room. this young man dies, the grave will 
be the issue/’ he found himself saying solemnly. 
He looked at his watch. It was time for dinner. 
Then he might go straight to his rendezvous and 
dine while he was waiting for Billinghurst. 

It was still wet, but evening had drawn the 
blind, and a hundred small street fires shone 
kindly on the lamp-posts, and the white moons 
of the arc-lights on the Haymarket lit files of 
quivering hansoms taking their corners on the 
one wheel, the drivers’ streaming water-proofs, 
dashed with radiance, pennon-like following the 
curves. Newsboys with hoarse iteration and 
damp placard hung round the theatre fronts, and 
the long queues for pit and gallery pressed close 
and black against the walls, and turned to the 
traffic lines of faces splashed with light and wet. 

The omnibus, whose painters colour it for 
evening effects, now lent its disparted image to 
the wet surfaces, and well supported by the pub- 
lic, rumbled in its dozens over the wood, drop- 
ping red and yellow reflections among the warm 
prevailing browns. 

Paul contributed a penny to one which was 
still collecting, and was trundled to the Circus. 

187 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

You may dine in many rooms and styles at 
the Cafe Royal. He chose the room and style 
chiefly affected by his adopted compatriots, en- 
tering the Cafe itself, filled with red velvet ban- 
quettes and marble topped tables and walled en- 
tirely with huge mirrors very confusing to the 
vision about supper time. 

Heads fresh from the tondeur rose from flow- 
ing napkins, looking, from the front at least, as 
if the barber were still expected rather than the 
waiter, and the salad bowl and yard of bread by 
every plate savoured pleasantly of France. 

Here he could see Billinghurst when and if 
he came, could stop and smoke at his leisure, 
and first and foremost dine. He set about it 
and ate with a good appetite, but he had 
finished his coffee before the third refugee 
came in. 

Lord Billinghurst looked round him for a 
minute or more. The place was rather crowded, 
but Paul had been spreading himself over two 
seats latterly, and as soon as Billinghurst looked 
his way, he moved up, making place, and hung 
his hat on a peg. Billinghurst, not seeing his 
man, walked slowly across the room to the place 


i88 


An Understudy 

made, and edged in behind the table, looking 
round with compressed mouth upon the assem- 
bled foreigners. Paul watched him out of the 
corner of his eye. The pinch of apprehension 
marked his face and a nervousness was visible 
in his drumming fingers. The waiter was upon 
him at once, and he gave his order, and when 
he had had the first sip and was leaning back, 
his shoulders almost touching him, Paul said in 
his ear : "'What did you do with the body T' 

When you have hugged a dreadful secret for 
four and twenty hours, a pressing something 
known only to you and your dispersed accom- 
plices, and a stranger in a public place leans his 
shadow across you and plucks the heart out of 
your concealed trouble, you may well suppose, 
as did the unfortunate and unhardened young 
nobleman, that the unexpected voice breaking into 
your privacy comes from a disordered imagina- 
tion. 

He started violently, paled, shut his eyes tight 
and opened them again, then, unable to discredit 
his hearing, turned his fearful gaze on his neigh- 
bour, whom he found laughing silently with lifted 
shoulders. 


189 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


Indignation brought back his colour, and relief 
followed with a rush; for, having Arden con- 
stantly in mind, he recognized him; and in the 
elation of discovery and the upset of his feelings, 
he pounded him with his clenched fist. 

''Quietly, mind the glasses/’ said Paul, glanc- 
ing round them. 

"D — n you,” said his lordship. "What do you 
mean by it? And how did you come by that 
moustache ? Surely you had none last night. I — 
I — ” he looked at the general impression — "I 
took you for one of these forsaken foreigners.” 

"You forget,” replied the mask, "that the 
hounds of justice are on my traces. When I 
parted from you last night it was because I re- 
membered that the Freiherr had my card in his 
pocket. I was too late to recover it — I was 
chased — past the house, and have been fleeing 
ever since.” 

"I left the windows open for you,” cried Lord 
Billinghurst, "but as for me, hearing my father’s 
voice outside, I went to bed and locked myself 
in.” 

"And Raggleston?” 

"Oh, he’s all right/’ said Lord Billinghurst, 
190 


An Understudy 

his face falling slightly. ''I let him out by the 
front. It was all his fault, and of course he suf- 
fers least. And he’s probably off by now to the 
Isle of Wight after that girl. He’s a harsh sort 
of person.” 

‘'Did he say anything to the point?” 

“The last thing he said to me was, ‘he’s only 
a German anyway.’ ” 

Paul laughed. “Where does he live ?” he 
asked. 

“In term time he has diggings down in Earl’s 
Court.” 

“Oh,” said Paul, “has he ?” — and after a pause 

% 

— “And you? You have a faithful retainer at 
your house.” 

Lord Billinghurst winked. “I’m merely stay- 
ing with an Aunt of mine in Chelsea. I retire 
there when the times are out of joint. She’s not 
on speaking terms with my father, so it’s rather 
useful. She’s a pro-Boer,” he explained, settling 
down to a cigar. “I don’t mind her politics. It 
don’t matter much in a woman. But have you 
noticed how all these pro- and anti- people catch 
one another’s itch? My Aunt was only a Non- 
conformist once. Now she’s an anti-vaccinator, 


Helen of Troy^ N. Y. 

and an anti-vivisectionist, a total prohibitionist, 
a Protectionist, and a Propagator of something — 
Purity, I think. Not of her species anyway. 
Sometimes I call her Aunty and sometimes I 
call her pro. That's my little joke. But the 
value of it is that my father never sets foot 
there, so Pm as safe as houses. If the police came 
after me she would probably turn Passive Re- 
sister on the spot. All the same I had a letter 
this evening that will require an answer. But 
what became of you?" 

Arden gave him a full account of Tiis doings 
during the night and day, not forgetting the 
interview at Horsham House. The tale did not 
lose in the telling, and Lord Billinghurst was in- 
expressibly cheered by the resourcefulness of his 
fellow criminal and awakened to issues and pos- 
sibilities that had never hitherto presented them- 
selves to his mind. He was relieved rather than 
annoyed to learn that Lord Horsham had been 
made aware of his part in the matter, for it saved 
him the unpleasantness of an inevitable confes- 
sion, but that Raggleston should have been cut 
loose from the coil and given an unembarrassed 


192 


An Understudy 

hand to play, he found ''a bit thick,” as he ex- 
pressed it. 

''It may have been his fault originally,” said 
Paul, "but not in the end.” 

But Billinghurst thought he should have had 
a lesson. 

"As it is, if he only remembers to keep his 
mouth shut, and poor von Deggendorf goes on 
forgetting how to open his, in English anyway — ” 

"He may get his lesson yet,” said Paul darkly, 
mindful of Lord Horsham’s parting words, but 
Billinghurst, knowing his friend’s capacity for 
muddling through, said "Pooh! He’s an unde- 
feated sort of chap and he’ll come out on the 
top yet, you’ll see. And marry his heiress.” 

As to that, Paul rather hoped that he might, 
but he had his doubts. 

"Did you say anything about Miss Heimer?” 
asked Billinghurst with some anxiety. 

"No. I couldn’t remember her name. I said 
they quarreled about a woman. It’s reassuring 
that it’s to be kept quiet for the present,” he 
added. 

"Yes. But they’re hot foot on your trail — or 
at least on the herring you have drawn. Look 


193 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

here — ” He produced his father’s letter which 
bore date that afternoon, shortly after Paul’s de- 
parture in fact. ^^He says — your disgraceful 
conduct — hm — hm — Why I should have a son 
who — ^hm — that’s not it. Here we are — I shall 
spare no pains to unearth this young scoundrel 
Arden, as I told your friend Beauclerk. Why 
you mix yourself up with such — hm — hm — ” 

''Don’t mind me,” said Paul. "I told him 
that Arden had been led astray by a debauched 
aristocracy. It has evidently rankled.” 

Lord Billinghurst continued to read extracts. 
"/ have already sent West, who has undertaken 
the inquiry for me, to the addresses found and 
if he has reason to think that this Arden has gone 
abroad, as his friend hinted, I shall he much 
tempted to send the case to Scotland Yard at 
once!' "West is his secretary. A sound man. 
You’ll have to lie close.” 

"I told you,” said Paul, "I had to look out for 
myself. And this brings us to the question of 
means and methods. If you can fortify yourself 
in Chelsea from personal cross-examination, and 
at worst deny all knowledge of Beauclerk, we 
may throw them off for a time; of course if Von 


194 


An Understudy 

Deggendorf is so — so disobliging as to — to — 
He did not finish but his companion understood. 
Tha-t event was never far from their thoughts. 

^'But I must have some clothes and some sin- 
ews of war, and I must set my sister’s mind at 
rest. If you could help me in that — ” 

‘Til go and see her,” volunteered Billinghurst, 
with alacrity. “Fll go and see her.” 

“They may be watching the house — ” 

“ril take a bag with me, and bring it away full 
of your duds.” 

“You’re coming on,” said Paul, approvingly. 
“I’ll arm you with a note — ” 

“Anything I can do I will. I got you into this 
scrape and I must help you out of it.” 

“Thank you. We must hang together. Heaven 
forfend! I don’t mean that! But I’ll write to 
my sister and tell her she may trust you — ” 
“Thank you'' said Billinghurst, “and you must 
meet me again tomorrow as early as you can.” 

He called for writing material and began his 
apologia to Daisy. Lord Billinghurst gnawed his 
fingers and exercised himself in mental strategy. 
Presently he cried “I have it! A great scheme. 
Listen, Arden.” Paul put down his pen, 


195 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

^^You shall go and stay with my sister in Sus- 
sex. Give me a piece of that paper and while 
you write to your sister Fll write to mine.” 

Paul looked dubious. ‘‘It sounds very well 
for me/^ he said. 

“She’ll be delighted to have you. She’s all 
alone down there.” 

“But—” 

“And I imagine that my father won’t be leaving 
town at present; he’s too full of work. You shall 
go down to Burton Paddocks, our house in Sus- 
sex. They won’t look for you there,” he 
chuckled. “I’ll write and tell her you’re under 
a cloud — ” 

“For pity’s sake, no,” remonstrated Paul. “If 
I am to go let me tell my own tale. But I don’t 
think it is feasible — or fair on her.” 

“Look here, my dear fellow, we have a big 
place down there which we can’t afford to keep 
up, but my sister loves it, and never stays long 
away from it. I go down pretty often, and gen- 
erally take some man with me, and I’ll come 
down this week-end and look after you. It will 
be pretty dull, but no worse than Holloway. You 
can shoot rabbits and there is some unexciting 

196 


An Understudy 

fishing in the lake. We have another Aunt of 
Sorts down there, a Permanent Installation, 
who is never surprised at anything I do, and 
there you can live occult from mortal eyes, until 
things happen. If you don't go, Raggleston will 
before he's much older." 

^'But your people know him," objected Paul. 

'There you have the advantage of him," an- 
swered Billinghurst, promptly. 

The prospect seemed fair, and he was at length 
overruled. 

"And now is there anything more to be done 
for you?" 

Paul told him about his theatricals which were 
giving him not a little uneasiness. He was due 
at rehearsal on the Friday and the performance 
itself was not far off. It was obviously impos- 
sible for him to attend. The Marquis had even 
the name of the piece in his possession, along 
with Molly's address. But it would cause great 
inconvenience, and we need hardly say that Paul 
saw no possibility of an effective substitute. As 
was said of a famous diplomat, he might be suc- 
ceeded in office but not replaced. But Lord Bill- 
inghurst, greatly daring, proffered himself. He 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


could act. Loved it. He would attend the re- 
hearsal, say that Arden was ill, and had sent him 
as understudy. Paul should coach him in the 
part at Burton Paddocks, lend him his word 
book at once, and worry no more about it. 

Paul felt that his hand was being played for 
him with a vengeance. But there was no help 
for it. He had left the mimic stage for the real — 
must release the shadow for the substance. It 
jumped well with his necessities, in the circum- 
stances, and Burton Paddocks sounded pleasanter 
than the Covent Garden Hotel and the anathe- 
mas of the Surwood Thespians. But perhaps 
to hide from the Marquis in his own house was 
the perilous lure that drew him. 

He consented to the plan at length, not with- 
out misgivings, and both letters were written. It 
was agreed that Paul should continue the name 
of Beauclerk, lest that of Arden should become 
unpleasantly notorious ; that Eillinghurst should 
keep him posted in the development of the Mar- 
quis’s hostilities, and pending more serious 
events, should attend the next rehearsal to read 
Paul’s part and make what way he could in the 
graces of the company. To Paul this appeared 

198 


An Understudy 

the blackest quarter of the horizon — to Billing- 
hurst the only gleam of brightness ; who, indeed, 
would have had the moustache and eyeglass off 
the discountenanced Beauclerk before he left his 
side. But to that Paul would by no means con- 
sent. He instructed his understudy where dupli- 
cates could be obtained and with this his lordship 
had to rest content. 

It was late before they left the Cafe, Billing- 
hurst posting his letter and pocketing Paurs. 
‘'Adoo, Beauclerk,’’ shouted Lord Billinghurst, 
from his cab. '"Bon soir, Milor,” replied Mr. 
Beauclerk, with a flourish of his hat, and van- 
ished eastward through the colonnade. 

Next day proved fair, and Paul waited impa- 
tiently enough for his ally, confined all the sunny 
morning in the small hotel he had returned to 
for the night. He arrived at last, and while Paul 
exchanged his travesty for country clothes, gave 
an account of his mission. Daisy had been out. 
Waiting had not produced her. But the house- 
hold had not appeared at a standstill on Paul’s 
account, and when Billinghurst had diplomatic- 
ally approached the subject of his quest, the but- 
ler had brought Paul’s portmanteau, packed and 


199 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

waiting for him, from below. Miss Arden had 
ordered Mr. Paul’s things to be packed, thinking 
he would want them. 

"‘That’s what I call a sister !” cried Billinghurst, 
in conclusion. ""I am sorry I missed her.” 

Paul thought it was altogether too considerate ; 
superficially. Truth to tell he was puzzled. Yet 
what could she know ? he asked himself. 

Lord Billinghurst drove to Victoria with him. 
""You will probable be arrested as you step into 
the train,” he said. ""They always are. And I 
want to see it.” 

Paul primed him with particulars as to the part 
he was to play at Surwood^ and recommended 
Bobby as a possible instrument, and source of 
unexpected news. Billinghurst lent a ready ear, 
standing outside the carriage door, admiring the 
poise of the monocle confronting him, and look- 
ing to see the animating eye droop and quail 
when the old familiar ""I am Hawkshaw, the de- 
tective,” should sound across his shoulder. The 
engine had whistled when Paul remembered that 
he did not know the name of his involuntary 
hostess. 

‘"By the by,” he said, leaning out of the 


200 


An Understudy 


window as the train moved off. ‘^You never told 
me your sister’s name.” 

‘'Oh — Sefton — Maud Sefton,” said Lord Bil- 
linghurst. 

Paul looked so blank that the other walked 
alongside and repeated “Maud — Maud Sefton.” 

Paul nodded, smiled and sat down. 

“The Devil !” he said to himself. 


CHAPTER XI 


A PROVINCIAL TOUR 


W EST Steadham, where Paul alighted 
towards four o’clock in the after- 
noon, is one of those little country- 
side stations so attractive at once 
and of themselves, that further excursion, beyond 
the ticket collector’s archway, seems unnecessary, 
and even hazardous of disappointment. 

Standing high, its smooth asphalt sidewalks 
look across gently heaving deeps of foliage and 
lightly ruffled shallows of corn southward to the 
steady downs where travelling clouds train all 
day their mile-long shadows. 

Its low palings painted dazzlingly white, its 
disciplined borders of wallflower and marigold, 
and its rustic benches of comfortable incline, sug- 
gest infrequent trains and the peaceful converse 


202 


A Provincial Tour 


of village worthies assembled of an evening to 
see the down express come by under the quiver- 
ing plank bridgeway like a comet through a 
keyhole. 

But Paul had not hitched his waggon to a 
star. His train was what they do not hesitate 
to call an omnibus, across the Channel. It lay 
leviathan-like along the track for some minutes, 
so much larger than West Steadham that having 
dropped its passenger from the foremost end it 
must move quite appreciably further on its way 
south before it could discharge his portmanteau 
from the other. Gathering its coils by a long 
communicated series of jerks it wound away 
down the shining metals. 

The visitor for Burton Paddocks was received 
with all respect by the station-master, who might, 
indeed, have been designated the lodge-keeper, 
and was presently seen off in the West Steadham 
fly by the official and his family. 

He found he had a four-mile drive before him, 
and ruminated deeply as he went. 

He had wanted to re-appear as Paul Arden, 
but since his deplorable introduction of Lady 
Maud’s name into the imbroglio had come home 


203 


Helen of Troy, N. Y, 

to him, he had had to bring a fresh mind to bear 
on his proposal to make her a confidante. He 
must take her measure cautiously. Perhaps it 
would be better to remain Beauclerk, but here in 
this searching country sunlight and unsophisti- 
cated surrounding, how could be continue his 
moustache? It must come off; but when? In 
the train he had not been alone. The driver of 
the fly turned occasionally to refresh his eyes with 
a sight of his fare, under cover of a word of 
gossip or topography. Yet once at the house 
he was committed. 

They were crossing a wide common, yellow 
with gorse, and purple with heather. A thin 
belt of firs beyond and on the right, ended at a 
knoll bearing a windmill whirling its noiseless 
arms, and through the trees and behind the 
turning fans the downs showed interminably. 
The common past the road was suddenly shaded 
and they ran for a little under an ill repaired 
stone wall which next gave way to a close paling, 
grey with lichen, sometimes bulging outwards 
under the thrust of a thick-twisted thorn, some- 
times supplanted for a couple of yards by the 
bulging knees of a patriarchal oak. The fly. 


204 


A Provincial Tour 


'hammering steadily along the highway, indented 
with a passing wave of alarm the extensive fringe 
of conies on the fence bank, who popped down in 
front and bobbed up behind with continuous reg- 
ularity ; until it turned down a side track through 
the woods and bowling along over the pine 
needles and encroaching moss arrived at a lodge 
and a wide, white-painted wooden gate. Half a 
mile of grassland succeeded, divided over wide 
spaces by wooden fencing, and holding consider- 
able coverts enclosed by split oak paling. 

Another white gate, and they drove through 
the farm buildings; passed an orchard on the 
right, and on the left a wall buttressed with 
lean-to glass houses, or veined with fruit trees; 
a sharp turn between some laurels, a glimpse of 
lawn and of a brick paved stable yard thick with 
pigeons, their many-doorway’d cotes strung across 
the gable ends of the buildings, and rounding ci 
final curve they came out upon the front of a 
large red brick Georgian house with balustraded 
stone steps and window-casements of stone 
showing white through the thick growing ivy. 

Paul climbed out stiffly and stretched his legs, 
admiring the fine range of lawn which, inter- 


205 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


rupted only by the carriage drive and the broad 
fountain in its sweep, came all round the house 
and rising gradually in front topped a low bank 
narrowing away to the entry. He heard a bar be- 
ing taken down behind the folding-door, and was 
admitted to a large hall reaching the whole height 
of the house, crossed north and south with gal- 
leries, and lined up to the level of these with pic- 
tured tapestries, the heroic proportions of the 
woven figures being overlaid in more than one 
area by cabinets of capable dimensions. A fox- 
terrier which had followed the servant to the 
door had so much to say that at first no one could 
get a word in, but Paul presently understood 
that Lady Maud and Miss Selden were out but 
would be back before six. Would he like some 
tea and would he like it in the garden. 

He agreed to these suggestions and soon made 
an ally of the terrier over a plate of bread and 
butter on the lawn. 

It is an old controversy, who seizes Nature’s 
charms with the greater appreciation — he who at- 
tests his devotion by living with her, or he who 
comes intermittently, bringing the relish of 
strangeness. The greater homage is not always 

206 


A Provincial Tour 


repaid with the more brilliant smile, and Paul, a 
cockney, and a sparing and infrequent worship- 
per, was ravished with the quiet scene ; sitting on 
the grass with the dog, hearing the pervasive 
hum of bees and the distant wrangle of rooks for 
the last word^ and watching the stiff-legged star- 
lings walking and prodding the lawn. 

Following the restless terrier through an open- 
ing in the high clipped barrier of yew which 
hedged the house on three sides, he found the 
ground to slope sharply away, by diverging grass 
paths, and through a maze of rhododenrons, to a 
small lake. One path led onto a plank jetty with 
handrails, where a punt was chained, and his 
footfall on the sounding wood put up a flight of 
duck from behind a little island out in mid- 
water and set them flying in great spirals, far up, 
with outstretched necks. 

A coot disappeared into the reeds with an im- 
patient ''pst.” A lake trout leapt, and two hun- 
dred yards across, where the covert fringed the 
water side, wood pigeons flew out and in on noisy 
wings. A swan appeared from close at hand, 
the dog barked furiously, and quiet was at an 
end. Two cygnets looked out from the ruffled 


Helen of Troy, N. Y 

plumes, and, as the parent ship drew near, 
launched themselves from the port and starboard 
quarters, not minded to go into action, in callow 
respect for the braggart terrier. Greedy, suspi- 
cious, and resentful, the old bird hissed round the 
landing stage, where no dog now remained, and 
warned the visitor off her private water. 

’ Not on a sufficiently assured footing to dispute 
with her, Paul sauntered on round the pond-side, 
the terrier ‘^pointing” invisible game and chas- 
ing shrieking blackbirds between the bushes. 

He felt that his footing was altogether bad, 
and planned excuses for his presence. He wished 
he had come as Paul Arden. He wished that 
Billinghurst had come with him. He wished he 
hadn’t come at all. And with that there was a 
sound of wheels, the dog left him like a stone 
from a catapult, and a minute later he could see 
a white dress crossing the lawn towards the lower 
ground, the dog, a small white object, leaping 
up and down at an outstretched hand. 

It was a frank, merry face came towards him, 
brown and brisk, and a high voice gave him 
greeting before he was within range of hand- 
shake of the sunburnt hand already freed from 


208 


A Provincial Tour 


the fettering glove now grasped, as to the buttoti 
end, in the dog’s teeth; who swung his weight 
on it without anxiety on the owner’s part. 

"'I did not get my brother’s note until we were 
starting out,” she explained, showing it crumpled 
in her hand, ^^or, as I much prefer gardens with- 
out parties in them^ I should have stayed at 
home to receive you.” 

^‘It is very kind of you to receive me at all. 
Meanwhile your little dog has been showing me 
round.” 

^"No doubt he had tea with you, too — let go, 
you fiend ! You should have brought my brother 
down with you. He has had time to eat a dozen 
dinners by now. He can’t have anything to do.” 

Paul thought, on the contrary, that Billing- 
hurst would have his hands full, but conceited 
himself that he could play Lord Billinghurst’s 
part at Burton Paddocks well enough; but she 
was scrutinising him with all the appalling frank- 
ness of the English maiden, and he trembled for 
his disguise, and stiffened in his manner. 

Putting up his eyeglass, he expressed surprise 
that Lord Billinghurst should neglect such pleas- 
ant avocation, and was beginning to speak of 


2og 


Helen of Troy, N, Y. 

the Bar as a profession when Lady Maud made a 
face of most undisguised dislike and, exclaiming 
that she must change her dress, ran of? towards 
the house. 

^‘We’ll try for a trout before dinner she cried 
as she ran. 

'"A child of Nature,’’ murmured Mr. Beauclerk. 
‘'A good sort,” thought Paul Arden. '"I think I 
shall tell her. Tomorrow.” 

In the interim he sought a compromise. He 
unmoored the punt, fetched a pole from the gar- 
den-house, and had the boat bailed and alongside 
on her return. She was visibly mollified and 
stepped aboard^ with her rod, in better opinion of 
him. 

He paddled her gently round the island^ but 
while she plied her line she did not cease to talk. 

'‘What do you do with yourself in London, 
Mr. Beauclerk?” she asked. 

"Mine is a life of leisure tempered by hob- 
bies,” replied Mr. Beauclerk, urbanely^ fixing his 
glassy stare on the ring left by a mocking trout. 

"That does not sound exciting,” she said 
doubtingly. 

"Excitement is best seen in retrospect,” said 


A Provincial Tour 


he, sententiously, but with present meaning in 
his nod. 

He took in the brooding light, the sheltering 
repute of the mansion, and the evening cool ; and 
he caressed his moustache. She looked at him, 
puzzled ; then cast again. 

‘'I hope you are not easily bored,’’ she said. 
‘‘Never,” said the guest firmly. She laughed 
with pleasure. 

“I am so glad to hear that. So many people 
ask me what I do with my time. Why, I have 
never known a day long enough for me yet !” 

“Perhaps you go to bed early,” suggested Mr. 
Beauclerk, who still felt himself on the wrong 
side of the account on the matter of sleep. 

“I do. But I am downright sorry for leisured 
people who have not sufficient imagination to 
keep themselves amused — ” 

“Overfed and underworked. Yes, I know 
them. They talk mostly — ” 

“They are under no necessity to work — ” 

“And have no spirits to play.” 

“They have no wish to be helpful — ” 

“And end by losing the power to be amiable.” 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

''I wouldn’t say that, but their society is dull, 
certainly.” 

‘'Naturally, you don’t find it good enough?” 

“Only the best is good enough for me,” cried 
Lady Maud, casting widely ; “as you see I live in 
splendid isolation.” 

He laughed. “London does not see much of 
you, then?” 

“No. London comes down here sometimes, 
though. We have house-parties in the autumn. 
Londoners get tired of London even.” 

“You are severe. But I warn you I shall not 
soon tire of Burton Paddocks.” 

Lady Maud reeled in her line and dwelt upon 
the sunset for a moment. 

“There was a girl staying here last year,” she 
began impressively, citing a crushing instance, 
“whom I drove up onto the downs to look at 
the sea. (We will go tomorrow,” she said paren- 
ithetically, “one can look from Beachy Head to 
the Isle of Wight.) She actually asked me if I 
didn’t get tired of the sea. I said, ‘do you grow 
tired of the sky ?’ ” 

The Londoner shook his head. 


213 


A Provincial Tour 


''We don’t see the sky in London/’ he said; 
"'your retort missed fire.” 

"That’s a pity. I thought she looked as if she 
didn’t know what I was talking about. Well, 
there are no trout tonight. I have talked too 
much. And it’s nearly dinner time.” 

They poled round the shallows to the little 
pier again, releasing the impatient terrier, whose 
eagerness to go on board was only equalled by 
his anxiety to get ashore again, and returned to 
the house. 

At dinner Miss Selden made a third, an elderly 
lady suffering from shock to the system with- 
out apparent cause, and wrapped in a black silk 
shawl. 

Both ladies retired extremely early, and the 
visible indoor staff, a housekeeper, and a man out 
of livery, also betook themselves to bed, and 
Paul was left alone in the library to work off 
the adverse balance of riotous nights. He 
browsed a while on the lower shelves with heavy 
eyes, then followed the household to repose. 

Daybreak brought cold consideration on which 
he acted, and he went down to breakfast pre- 
pared for that adverse criticism of the eye his 


213 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

young hostess was unskilled or scornful to con- 
ceal. 

Lady Maud was making the tea, and looking 
up to say good morning she was immediately 
struck by the change in her guest’s appearance. 
A clean shaven face met her look with an im- 
passiveness to which, yesterday, the moustache 
had lent an oddness standing for expression. 

It is always an offence when a friend alters his 
index by the addition or subtraction of a familiar 
feature ; for so deep rooted is the absurd habit of 
judging from appearances that the sprouting of 
a beard, or the withdrawal of a fringe, strikes as 
the revelation of a trait of character, or as the 
shrinking of a certain disposition on which we 
have built an understanding. 

That Lady Maud’s frown was not founded on 
any conscious or unconscious appreciation of this 
injury was simply due to the fact that her broth- 
er’s friend was still a comparative stranger to 
her, but the charge grew from his unfamiliar 
standing. 

It was an impertinence, she said to herself, to 
play such tricks in a strange house. If a young 
man was still shilly-shallying between a mous- 


214 


A Provincial Tour 


tache and no moustache, he must range the wilds 
until he comes to terms with himself. 

She gave him her hand coldly, and checked the 
unfolding of her morning plans. Paul was sen- 
sitive to the ''frost” but did not yield to it, and 
tided over the occasion with unperturbed civili- 
ties. But cheerful conversation at breakfast is a 
speciality of the elders even in favorable circum- 
stances, and the only really pleasant moment of 
the meal was when the terrier burnt his nose 
against the kettle-stand in the fender^ and a com- 
mon sympathy restored their contact. 

An hour later they set out for the downs and 
before they had walked a mile a natural though 
unlooked for incident precipitated the event and 
threw him on the mercy, and into the power, of 
his entertainer. They left the gardens by an ap- 
proach leading to the side of the estate removed 
from the paddocks, and crossed a small but beau- 
tiful chase — or rather park, for it was of ancient 
enclosure — ^where great curmudgeon oaks nursed 
gouty knees in swathing fern, growing crooks of 
timber through the centuries in old world ob- 
stinacy and heart warming disregard of modern 
requirements. 


215 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


A herd of faflow buck rustled away from their 
passage, pressing close together, stamping and 
tossing lightly at the teasing flies. A fragment 
of ruin, shapeless in ivy, marked the site of a 
former dwelling when the chase was all in all. 

Overhead the unbroken blue was deepening 
and a hot day was in promise. They scaled the 
bordering palisade where some slight footholds 
and an upright handrail conducted the path onto 
the high road, which soon degenerated into a 
farm road ; from that to a cattle track, and then 
over stiles to a steep and steeper footpath leading 
to the lower slopes of the downs. 

Pausing at the first stile for a breath, Lady 
Maud put a startling question. 

"T wonder if you know a friend of my broth- 
er’s, called Arden — a Mr. Paul Arden?” 

Her companion took his breath also, and con- 
tented himself^ for the nonce, with a hesitating 
repetition of the name. 

She continued, moving on again, had a let- 
ter from my father this morning asking whether 
I knew anyone of that name. I was going to 
speak to you about it, but something put it out 
of my head. That wretch Billinghurst has been 

216 


A Provincial Tour 


up to mischief, I suspect. It seems that he is 
staying with my Aunt Theo in Chelsea again. I 
can’t imagine why he didn’t come down here if 
he is in a scrape.” 

She went on to explain, frankly enough, that 
Lord Horsham was not an easy tempered parent, 
Paul confronting alternatives and chasing possi- 
bilities in his mind, until over the apparent crest 
of the hill, the rising and retiring summit which 
cheats the ascending pilgrim, some young men 
came suddenly in view, striding or slipping down 
the grassy inclines at a great pace, and sending 
their voices far and wide before them. 

‘'Some of Mr. Hopeful’s young men,” said 
Lady Maud, glancing up. “The crammer at 
Steadham, You know.” 

Paul did know, and remembered that he had an 
lacquaintance there; and no sooner remembered 
him -than he saw him advancing, coming down 
on him in fact — a catastrophe. 

The half dozen fresh looking youths in star- 
tling tweeds and yellow boots shot past them in 
their facile descent, and one, raising his cap 
rather bashfully, blurted out a “Hullo, Arden,” 


217 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


and, gathering momentum, was gone, with his^ 
companions, in an instant. 

Paul continued to climb in silence, and Lady 
Maud, after a moment’s surprised halt, did the 
same; nor did they stop until the conquered 
down had unfolded its final outline and they could 
walk erect, on the broad summits of the sunbaked, 
air-scoured barriers between the silver Channel 
and the soft southern country behind them. 


218 


CHAPTER XII 


A COMMAND PERFORMANCE 


M 


m mr R. BEAUCLERK, why did that 
man call you Arden 
There was no shelter or retreat. 

Only the open down, and her un- 
avoidable gaze. 

‘'He was evoking a memory,” said Mr. Beau- 
clerk. 

“Do you know him?” 

“Arden did—” 

“Did ? And why Arden ?” 

“Arden no longer walks the earth. That is 
why Lord Horsham cannot find him; although 
he has entertained him unawares, and continues 
to shelter him.” 

“Continues — you spoke of him in the past 
tense just now.” 


219 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

'Taul Arden was sacrificed on the altar of 
friendship, but his spirit has been re-incar- 
nated — 

'‘Mr. Beauclerk, it will be very inconvenient to 
me if you go mad on the top of this down.’' 

"I will endeavour to explain. You have per- 
haps read of wizards who could shed the body 
like an old coat, and go out into the night in 
other shapes? But if an enemy or some evil 
accident destroyed the inanimate form, or shell, 
the wizard was homeless, and must remain in- 
visible, or make what he could of his borrowed 
tenement ; were his disguise a wolf’s skin, or 
merely — ” He felt for his moustache, but ca- 
ressed the empty air, and regarded her doubt- 
fully. 

She sat down on the short tun, and embraced 
her knees. "I like fairy tales,” she said, ‘‘go on.” 

"This Arden, then, abandoned his earthly 
dwelling and, being pursued by enemies and un- 
able to pick his steps, unfortunately put his foot 
through his old skin — so to speak — damaging it 
almost irrevocably. And worse than that, he put 
his foot on a lady’s skirts and tore them also.” 

"I hope you are going to translate soon?” 


220 


A Command Performance 


'The name of the lady is the key to the cryp- 
togram.” 

"And who was she ?” 

He looked at her with a challenging eye, lean- 
ing on his stick. 

"Do say it was my skirt. It only needs that.” 

"It was.” 

"And what is necessary for his redemption ? I 
believe one should humour lunatics,” she added, 
addressing the sky. 

"If you could promise to forgive the rent he 
might proceed to patch his own reputation. 
Please promise !” 

"And if I promise ?” 

"Then he shall appear to you.” 

Lady Maud screamed and shut her eyes. "Is 
he very frightful ?” she asked. 

"Most certainly not,” disclaimed Mr. Beau- 
clerk, with resentment; "open your eyes when 
I say three — and be gentle with the shivering 
soul ! One, two, three.” 

She opened her eyes. "I thought as much,” 
she said, calmly. 

"You find him so hideous?” he asked, indig- 
nantly. 


221 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


''He is all spotted with sins. He had better 
confess as soon as possible.” 

He knelt on the turf, pulling up his trousers 
carefully. 

"This is Arden speaking to you. He and your 
brother, Lord Billinghurst, assisted as seconds in 
a duel on Monday night — ” 

' Oh, don’t say that this is part of the fairy 
story !” 

"No. This is a plain tale — a history.” 

She clapped her hands. 

"It ended seriously — ” 

He waited — 

"Oh, Mr. Arden!” 

"He, that is I, ran — we all ran. Except — you 
understand — . I became Mr. Beauclerk; but I 
ran into the hands of Justice and had to shape 
a tale. I put the blame on Arden.” 

"It was generous of you.” 

"There was no such person, remember. I said 
he had fought for — ” 

"For his ladye love, of course.” 

"For you!” 

"For me ! Oh, ripping !” and to his relief she 
was ravished with laughter. He heard her with 


A Command Performance 

a double pleasure, and sinking to a seat he re- 
counted details and explained his windings and 
doublings, to her heart’s content, down to the 
change of countenance that morning. Her free 
high-pitched laughter was a joy to hear. 

“You looked simply odious in it,” she pro- 
tested; “you looked like a croupier.” 

“It was the growth of a dissolute but charm- 
ing nobleman,” he said, regretfully, “but perhaps 
the footlights are a help.” 

He sighed for a lost illusion. 

“And now Billinghurst is to wear it, you say ;” 
she rocked with delight again. “He’ll look per- 
fectly disgusting. I shall go and see him.” 

“Then so will I,” said Paul, decisively. “He 
wants steadying. He seemed to think it a joke. 
I don’t believe,” he said despondently, “that he 
has the least notion how a man of his position 
should carry himself on the stage.” 

“Do you think he is more successful off it ?” 

“You are a merciless critic, but you were im- 
posed upon by our late friend Beauclerk.” 

“Never,” she protested, with vigour; “why the 
very dog sees no difference in you.” 

“If it were only he who followed the trail!” 


m 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


''Well, yours leads nowhere, after all. But the 
end of Mr. Raggleston’s quest is likely to see the 
hunter hunted.” 

"Had I given your brother the first chance I 
might have spared myself two anxieties, and Miss 
Heimer one.” 

"But Mr. Raggleston will be with her — ” 

"I am not so sure of that,” said Paul; "but 
that’s another’s story.” 

"Another story?” 

"Another’s. But I will tell it you — what there 
is of it.” And he confided his suspicions as to 
Daisy. But Lady Maud was delighted. 

"He told me that only the best was good 
enough for him.” 

Paul smiled his acknowledgment on Daisy’s be- 
half. 

"I told him he wasn’t good enough for the 
best, and I hope he took it to heart. He’s rather 
a friend of mine.” 

"Do you think him selfish?” 

"He is a strong-willed sort of person.” 

'It’s much the same thing. There is not 
much opening for a strong will if you come to 
think of it. It demands the dignus vindice nodus. 


224 


A Command Performance 

But the active selfishness that overcomes passive 
unwillingness is a common enough quality, and 
useful/’ 

your sister’s anything like you, Mr. Arden, 
she will be worthy of the exercise; for you are 
ready to contest anything. And it seems to me 
that you have all tied yourselves in a knot that 
somebody will have to cut.” 

"'It is all knotted about von Deggendorf. If he 
shuffles off the mortal coil it will tighten round 
somebody’s neck.” 

"Oh, Mr. Arden, don’t be dreadful.” 

"On the other hand, if he can hold his own 
and get to his legs, a pull at either end should 
unravel the whole.” 

They descended on excellent terms. The sun 
had sucked up the light mist, and as they skidded 
down the glazing turf they divined an afternoon 
of shade and hammock. A last look seaward saw 
the topsail of a distant brig, reaching over under 
the push of a gathering breeze, mark with an 
interrogation point the indeterminate horizon; 
and the pearl white haze above hold horizontal 
streaks of hanging smoke from the passage of 
some steamer lost over the rim of the waters. 


22 $ 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


Lady Maud was pleasantly intrigued and heart 
and soul in the business. Paul was glad of a 
confidant, for it little suited him to sit tongue- 
tied, and relieved to have made it clear that in 
seeking Burton Paddocks he had sought the in- 
evitable sanctuary. He should not mind now if 
Billinghurst did not turn up on Saturday. But 
if Lord Horsham did? But Billinghurst had 
pronounced against that possibility, and it was 
no good meeting troubles halfway. 

Miss Selden thought otherwise, though, and 
met them in the Park with an open letter, her 
nervous constitution evidently shaken by a recent 
shock. 

‘^Good morning, Mr. Beauclerk,” she said, giv- 
ing him her trembling fingers, and the guest 
looked fearfully at his new associate, feeling the 
value of the Masonic exclusiveness. 

‘‘My dear, I must speak to you a minute. Your 
father writes — ” 

He hung back, whistling for the dog, and 
changed his opinion again. If Lord Horsham 
was on the war-path, he had done well to trust 
the Chatelaine of Burton Paddocks. She soon let 
226 


A Command Performance- 

him know the worst, running back with mis- 
chievous eyes. 

‘‘My father comes down on Monday,'’ she 
cried. 

“I suppose it is the instinct of the chase that 
makes you see fun in it,” said the quarry, with 
some bitterness. 

“I wouldn’t miss it for worlds,” she said. “It 
will be as good as a play.” 

“No, it won’t. I can’t act without my make- 
up.” 

“You always think very poorly of the rest of 
the company, Mr. Arden.” 

“What a cruel jibe ! And I in your power.” 

“Poor thing! Shall I hide you?” 

“Perhaps I had better go to Arlington Street, 
now Lord Horsham wants his country house for 
himself.” 

“You can’t,” she said, with simplicity. “He 
will bring the household with him. He wants a 
lot of people asked to dinner that night.” 

He considered. “Beauclerk can’t appear 
again—” 

“Why not?” 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


moustache is not grown again as quickly 
as it is shaved off/’ 

''I see — Aunt Selden.” 

''Exactly. And the name of Arden is pro- 
scribed.” 

"Then appear as Arden under the name of 
Beauclerk.” 

"And how shall I explain my visit here?” 

''You won’t be asked to explain it.” 

"That is generous. I forgive your taunt. But 
this will want much talking over.” 

The days passed pleasantly. Miss Selden was 
scarcely seen more, overlooking the housekeeper 
who superintended the servants, who bujlied the 
stablemen, who forayed the distant tradesmen, 
and riding forth, east, west and south and north, 
summoned the guests. 

The early advent of the Arlington Street 
staff brought a change over the three 
faces of the house which opened their many 
blinded windows on the sunny lawns, disclosing 
gilt and tapestried interiors, whence holland cov- 
ers were whisked in troops like sheeted ghosts 
at break of day. 

Lady Maud and Paul kept the lake and woods, 
228 


A Command Performance 

she heartening her refugee whose spirits were 
sinking to the desperate alternatives of a hollow 
tree, or a maroon’s solitude on the island. 

Lord Horsham was not arriving until the last 
moment, on the Monday, and before he was 
due Paul was out of sight in his room on the 
bachelor’s corridor at the top of the house, 
where one round window, set like an eye in the 
pediment of the building, looked over the balus- 
traded parapet of the north front. Hence his 
fearful gaze described his host’s approach, and 
here the echo of his arrival came up faintly 
through clanging doors. Paul achieved his toilet 
but did not descend till several other carriages 
had driven up, set down, and departed ; for, feel- 
ing rather like a pickpocket, he naturally pre- 
ferred to mingle in the crowd. Lord Beauclerk’s 
facial embellishments locked away from prying 
eyes, and the looking-glass returning him a sat- 
isfactory portrait of Paul Arden, he left his room, 
armed with a bare name, to- play out the act. At 
the end of the corridor he stayed to look down 
on the stable-yard where unbitted horses were 
being led to temporary quarters by unbuttoned 
coachmen, and envied the informal supper to 


229 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

follow: cheerier than his evening would prove, 
he conjectured. He descended and emerged upon 
the south gallery, a brouhaha of voices and a 
great illumination meeting him as he opened the 
swing-door. The party was assembling in the 
hall, and he could see the square figure of the 
Minister backed against the hearth, several men 
round him. As he halted, looking down through 
the rail, a room-door opened at the end of the 
passage, and an elderly lady descended the two 
or three steps to his level and advanced briskly 
towards him. 

She was short and roundabout, dressed in 
brown satin, with a large gold locket reposing in 
front, almost at right angles to her face. 

‘T suppose that you are Lord Billinghursfs 
friend,’’ she said, in rather a loud voice. ‘^My 
niece has told me of your misadventure — ” 

Paul started at this. 

— that he was to meet you here but that he 
has not come — ” 

He acknowledged that this was the case. 

‘‘He is supposed to be staying with me — ” 
(then you are Aunt Theo, thought Paul) “but I 
never see him ; though if I come down here I can 


230 


A Command Performance 

hardly blame him, can I? And whom have we 
here?” she pursued, in the same tones, her hand 
on the balcony, and looking over the company 
below. "'Do you know any of them ?” 

He owned his strangeness to the neighbour- 
hood, 

‘^Let me see if I can enlighten you. I come 
here but once a year, but yours is the only new 
face I expect.” 

Indeed more than one head was already raised 
to the gallery in recognition. Lady Theodosia’s 
voice having pierced the din of conversation, and 
she waved her hand to some dowagers across the 
hall. The guests were distinctly elderly, and Paul 
felt relieved. He would, perhaps, get Lady 
Maud. 

''And what is yoiir name?” said Lady Theo- 
dosia. 

"Beauclerk,” said Paul, in polite accents. 

"You must speak louder than that,” she cried. 
"I can’t hear you.” 

"Beauclerk,” he repeated, opening his mouth 
wide, but emitting a very small sound. He had 
his eye on Lord Horsham and could have sworn 
he was listening. 


231 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

‘‘Bo — what?” cried she. “Bo — what? Do you 
think you are saying Bo to a goose ?” 

This was dreadful. He shouted the name and 
the Marquis’s eye travelled up to the sound of it. 

“Oh,” said Lady Theodosia, as if she didn’t 
like it now she knew it. “Well. You know my 
brother, I suppose, so I needn’t point him out. 
I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Beauclerk, that I 
am not a persona grata here, but I insist on an in- 
vitation once a year for my niece’s sake, that 
people may remember she has an aunt, and that 
it isn’t my doing that she is growing up like a 
red Indian.” 

Paul’s gaze fell on Miss Selden, who was peer- 
ing round the hall, a slip of paper in her hand, 
pairing the guests. 

“Jane Selden is an imbecile — ^but that’s no 
affair of yours.” He was inclined to think other- 
wise. “There’s General Bootlebury, I see. He’s 
at the War Office — I must have a chat with him. 
That’s the Vicar, Mr. Tacit, with the grey whisk- 
ers; and that’s his wife talking to Dr. Wisbech, 
the biologist, the old gentleman with the white 
hair. There’s Sir James Tuson, the Member, the 
goodlooking man talking with my brother. He 

232 


A Command Performance 


talks too much. He married one of the Vie- 
gelts — that’s Mrs. Viegelt, dressed in diamonds. 
Her servants have a billiard-room and two days’ 
covert-shooting in the autumn.” She took a fur- 
ther survey. ‘'Upon my word. There’s that 
hateful Mrs. ‘Jack’ Rusher, as she calls herself. 
Well. I have never seen her here before. It is 
her footmen, you know, who always meet the 
down-trains and ask right and left, ‘for Stoughton 
House, my lord?’ or ‘for Stoughton House, your 
grace?’ It impresses strangers very much, I be- 
lieve. You can hear her laugh above everything.” 

Paul only prayed that it might drown the 
words. 

“But we must go down. I see them announc- 
ing dinner.” 

Below she was met with propitiatory smiles and 
timid greetings, but Paul was alone until he 
caught Lady Maud’s eye, and making his way 
across was presented to her father. 

This was well managed, for Lord Horsham 
was just making the first move and could but 
give his hand and a word of greeting. Paul fell 
back towards the tail of the procession unscathed, 
and found his place near the foot of the table 


233 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

where Lady Theodosia and General Bootlebury 
took their seats in amity, having but just met. 
Doctor Wisbech and the Vicar's wife were near, 
and opposite to Paul a youngish man some ten 
years his senior, who looked rather keenly at 
him, he thought. 

Lady Maud had been raised from his sphere, 
and faced her father in the middle of the room 
with county magnates three deep on either side, 
while far away at the other end could occasionally 
be seen as she bobbed nervously behind the 
flowers, the anxious countenance of Miss Sel- 
den, small by distance and smaller with appre- 
hension. 

Small talk, that running commentary on the 
obvious so wonderfully sustained by women, car- 
ried them over a course or two, but the first glass 
of champagne whetted the edge of Lady Theo- 
dosia's tongue. Whetted, not wetted: for she 
was drinking hot water, to the discomfort of the 
General, who objected to the very steam. 

'Tt would be interesting to know what you are 
all drinking," she said, genially. ‘T have read 
that more champagne is drunk in St. Petersburg 
alone than the French vineyards can produce." 


234 


A Command Performance 

Mrs. Tacit set down her glass with a troubled 
face, but the General's tenets were not open to 
attack. He had closed the approaches many 
years since, and theory and speculation were 
winds that might blow where they listed. 

“Have you asked Lord Horsham?'' inquired 
Doctor Wisbech^ humourously, looking at her 
glass. 

“Oh, yes, I have put the question to him." 
And, indeed, nobody doubted her. 

“It's Mumm," said the practical General, who 
had simply asked the butler. 

“Perhaps the Russians get the imitation," sug- 
gested Mrs. Tacit, mildly. 

“And the Alliance ?" said Lady Theodosia, with 
a superior smile. 

‘Water without and wine within, my dear 
Lady," said the General, “and this is sufficiently 
like the real thing for me." 

“The War Office is not in love with inquiry, 
we know," said Lady Theodosia, always ready 
for action herself ; and Mrs. Tacit looked fearful 
for the peace, but Doctor Wisbech, a ruddy, clean 
shaven old gentleman whose shoulders the micro- 
scope had bent though it had not dimmed his 


235 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


eye, began to rally her on her many heterodoxies. 

''The spirit that prompts suspicion of our host’s 
wine must be the very Spirit that Denies/’ he 
declared. "My dear Lady Theodosia, you must 
be a reincarnation of some bold Manichee, or of 
some too early scientist for whom they used to 
make things so hot. Faggots, for instance. The 
Church has burnt people for lesser doubts.” 

"Yes, they burned heretics, I know,” cried 
Lady Theodosia, who subscribed to the maxim 
that attack is the best defence. "But had there 
been a College of Surgeons in power instead of 
the Holy Office, they would have vivisected the 
believers. To get at their principles,” she added, 
with a triumphant wink at Paul who had caught 
her eye. 

Doctor Wisbech chuckled, Mrs. Tacit smiled 
deprecatingly, and searched her small store of 
indifferent topics for something to barter, and 
General Bootlebury continued his dinner. He 
did not understand that sort of talk. He had 
thought the wine was under discussion. As an 
Englishman he had urged the flying ball from the 
age of knickerbockers and marbles, to the sixth 
age of knickerbockers and Haskells, but the ball 

236 


A Command Performance 


of conversation, like any other, must be kept 
within boundaries. 

^^Any ball but a bullet,’’ his free-spoken neigh- 
bour had once suggested, but as the General had 
pointed out, laughing, a bullet is not a ball. He 
had promised to show her one, and had enjoyed 
his triumph, which no one had grudged him, for 
it was very rude of Lady Theodosia. 

More than one passage of arms followed be- 
fore the end of dinner, and as the good lady in- 
variably chose the ground, took the offensive, and 
had an ungenerous advantage in not drinking 
fair, she was enabled to leave the engagement 
with her colours unlowered, her adversaries 
worsted in turn like the galleons in the ballad. 

‘'Have you found your man yet, Mr. West?” 
she asked finally, as she rose from the table. 

Paul’s opposite neighbour smiled with blank 
civility, his hand on his chairback. 

“The Green Park Murderer?” 

“Still at large,” said West, surprised but un- 
derstanding; “but perhaps not so safe as he 
thinks.” 

Lady Maud, who was passing down the side of 
the room, looked at Paul, who looked from her 


237 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


to West, who in his turn glanced lightly at him as 
he spoke laughingly to his interlocutress. It was 
but a glance, but it had been timed to take in the 
momentary and passing signal on the other side 
of the room. 

‘‘You have at least the detective’s sanguine 
temperament,” said Lady Theo, passing through 
the doorway, followed by a parting shot from 
Doctor Wisbech. 

The Green Park murderer resumed his seat 
with a good face. Doctor Wisbech closed the door 
and West shifted his seat nearer, the General 
moving up the table with his glass to company 
more worthy of him. 

“And who is the Green Park murderer?” in- 
quired Doctor Wisbech passing the wine to Paul. 

“That’s what I want to know,” said West eas- 
ily, but with a look at Paul which nearly drew 
from him the expressive Americanism, “you may 
search me.” 

But he said aloud, “Has there been a murder ?” 
being naturally most anxious to know, thinking 
indeed of little else. 

“Well — no,” said West and, his hand rather 
forced, spoke a few explanatory words. 

238 


A Command Performance 

When he had visited Collingham Gardens he 
had, as a matter of course, kept his eyes open for 
any portrait of the delinquent, and no sooner 
had he taken his seat that evening than he saw, 
and could have sworn to, the original of the most 
favoured photograph in Miss Arden’s sitting 
room; likenesses early in the interview acknowl- 
edged with pride by poor Daisy. 

Billinghurst’s unseasonable absence, and Beau- 
clerk’s unreasonable presence, pointed to a plot, 
and a plot in which Lady Maud had a hand. 
That she had a share in it should rob it of its 
worst aspects, but Miss Arden’s avowed unac- 
quaintance with the trouble, or even with his 
chief’s family, counterbalanced this more favour- 
able view. Was Lord Billinghurst the culprit? 
He was nonplussed for the moment and felt cer- 
tain only of Beauclerk’s identity. But the name 
had been worrying the Marquis too, and more 
at leisure now that the ladies had left the room, 
he noticed the three at the lower end of the table. 

The French windows were open onto the lawns 
and feminine voices came across the grass out of 
the darkness. Two or three men took their cigars 
into the open, and Lord Horsham drawing his 


239 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

immediate neighbors into contact extricated him- 
self from between with the ability of a table- 
turning medium and came down the room and 
entered into conversation with Doctor Wisbech. 

‘^And your name is Beauclerk,” he presently 
said abruptly, turning round on Paul, who sat 
near to him, and fixing on him a gaze he endeav- 
oured to lenify into interest. ‘'A young man of 
your name called on me the other day — ^have you 
a brother?’’ 

Paul had taken cofifee, refused milk, and the 
second footman was following up with liqueurs. 
Something impelled him to glance up and he met 
the probing eye of his friend in need at Horsham 
House. He put out his hand to the vari-coloured 
chasses but the footman turned the tray. '‘Brandy, 
sir,” he said sympathetically, and Paul accepted 
the hint with gratitude. He did not know 
whether a brother was a chance to catch at, or 
a complication to avoid, but he denied the brother. 
Taxed, however, with an acquaintance with Paul 
Arden, he acknowledged that, with the pleasure 
of one who, seeking a footing in strange com- 
pany, finds a friend in common. 

"And Miss Arden?” asked West, as junior 


240 


A Command Performance 

prompting his chief, who was conducting the ex- 
amination, while Doctor Wisbech occupied the 
bench in a frame of mind innocent of bias. 

‘‘I have known the Ardens all my life/’ said 
Mr. Beauclerk, evidently charmed with his sub- 
ject. 'They are great friends of mine. I admire 
Miss Arden extremely. I — I think she is gen- 
erally admired.” He looked into his empty glass 
with a touch of natural embarrassment that made 
the elder men smile, but threw a shade over Mr. 
West, whose cross fire slackened. But Lord 
Horsham opened on him again. 

"But this other Mr. Beauclerk. Rather for- 
eign looking — wears an eyeglass — rolls his rr’s, 
and uses his hands like a Frenchman.” 

At present Mr. Beauclerk started, looked ear- 
nestly but doubtfully at the Marquis, and then at 
Mr. West. "Paul Arden is an amateur actor,” he 
said slowly. "I have heard people call him an 
admirable actor. Your description of this Beau- 
clerk whom I have never met, is that of a favour- 
ite impersonation of Arden’s.” 

"Fooled/’ cried the Marquis, bringing down 
his fist emphatically on the table and looking at 
his secretary. "It was Arden himself then, the 


241 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

young scoundrel ! The young scoundrel he re- 
peated, throwing himself back in his chair, while 
Mr. Beauclerk and the Doctor sat in polite aston- 
ishment. ''And he borrowed the name from you, 
of course?’’ 

Mr, Beauclerk nearly spread his hands, but 
didn’t "It sounds like it,” he said cautiously, a 
suspicion of cold resentment in his tone. Even a 
life-long friend may not borrow and mishandle 
one’s name. 

"I see it all,” cried the Marquis. "I see it all,” 
he said, recounting his suspicions to himself, and 
gratified by their tardy verification, while the in- 
jured one met his comprehensive vision with 
courteous injuiry on his open countenance. 

"I must confess I thought for a moment that 
you were the same man,” said Lord Horsham, 
laughing to himself. "I can laugh now at his 
impudence, but at the time I was seriously an- 
noyed. How was young von Deggendorf this 
afternoon, West?” Paul held his breath over the 
answer, but neither hope nor fear was fulfilled, 
for the secretary was groping for his napkin be- 
low the table edge and missed, or for his own 
purposes affected not to hear, the inquiry; and 


242 


A Command Performance 


Lord Horsham rose and left the table, he telling 
Doctor Wisbech something of the affair. Paul 
breathed deep and thankfully as he followed 
the secretary into the garden, the tension of the 
moment relaxed, and the real anxiety of days 
lifted from his shoulders. 

He was off his guard then, when West, stop- 
ping short before he left the lighted room, said : 
'Wou are right about Paul Arden.'’ He forced 
a smile of interrogation. ‘'He is certainly an ad- 
mirable actor." 

“You know him ?" said Paul, summoning back 
Beauclerk to his aid, but before he could resume 
the mask West put a hand on his arm and led him 
down the steps. 

“Yes, I know him," he said, “but I should like 
to know him better. Let us take a turn up the 
garden." 


^43 


CHAPTER XIII 

A CURTAIN-LIFTER 

L ady maud, who had the eye of a 
nighthawk, did not fail to note the 
companionship, and, half an hour later, 
missing Paul from the dim lawns where 
most of the party strolled or sat, she slipped into 
the house and, picking up her best skirt, ran like 
a deer through dark familiar passages to the li- 
brary. 

Across an anteroom came a streak of light from 
the half-closed door, but no sound. In she went 
and found her man sitting discomfited and alone 
in a circle of lamplight, drawing comfort from a 
cigarette. 

‘‘Well,” she said breathlessly. “I can’t stay,” 
she added, as he pulled out a chair for her, “but 
tell me your news. How in this man — Herr von 
Deggendorf ?” 


244 


A Curtain Lifter 


‘'I can’t make out,” replied Paul in consider- 
able dejection. ‘West’s as close as an oyster. I 
only know that he’s alive and I have to thank 
Lady Theodosia for extracting that much. And 
yet he bled very effectively.” 

“Oh, don’t!” she implored, shuddering and 
putting her hands before her face. “What must 
poor Mr. Raggleston have felt!” 

Paul laughed. “Shall I write and soothe his 
sensitive spirit? I wonder if it keeps him awake 
at night? The people I am sorry for are the 
Ardens.” 

“Particularly the brother, I suppose?” 

“Particularly for the brother; though I am 
sorry for Daisy, too. It seems that West visited 
her on behalf of your father, and saw my photo. 
So he was not to be denied, and made me stand 
and unfold myself.” 

She began to laugh. “I was called upon to do 
it for you, but I left you veiled.” 

“Which me?” 

“Both of you. Mr. Arden I had never met, 
and Mr. Beauclerk was no friend of mine.” 

“I don’t like the sound of that ; you might have 
expressed it differently.” 


245 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

‘Why, I detested him!’’ 

“Your dislike is incomprehensible to me. But 
you know Arden now.” 

“So does my father if it comes to that. And 
you know his opinion of him ; both directly and 
indirectly, if I remember right.” 

“I am indeed but a shadow of respectability; 
but I must fade from the scene before West’s 
bull’s-eye is uncovered. West wanted the whole 
story. Of course, I could not give it him until 
I knew the probable upshot, both of events and 
their consequences; and whatever he may know 
of the Baron’s prospects, and of others dependent 
on them^ he will not part with it. He has given 
me until tomorrow morning to compose my con- 
fession and to out with it. If I am recalcitrant I 
am to be delivered over to the Marquis.” 

Her expressive pantomime, as coming from a 
member of the family, was not reassuring. 

“So far, the real I, the genuine Simon Pure, or 
simple Simon, has taken no hand in this concern. 
It has been a disembodied spectator, its fleshly 
tabernacle disguised, miscalled, and aspersed, but 
itself blameless, or at least unblamed. And I 
would keep it so. Unless I escape tonight, the 

246 


A Curtain Lifter 

next twenty-four hours should see your aversion, 
Beauclerk, not even a name, Arden rehabilitated, 
yet so as by fire, and Lord Horsham’s judgment 
cleared ; a task I would rather leave to your filial 
piety. But 

''But what becomes of the Quest ?” 

"It is blown sky-high.” 

"Yes, you must be removed; you’re a perfect 
powder magazine. If only my brother would 
write,” starting rather guiltily as she spoke, for 
the anteroom was crossed by a step and the li- 
brary entered. It was but one of the men bring- 
ing candles and the evening post. 

"Mr. Beauclerk, one for you, sir.” Paul took 
up the letter and would probably have hesitated 
at the unfamiliar address, but Lady Maud cried 
out with conviction, "It’s from Bill; open it and 
see what he says.” 

He opened it and leaning forward they looked 
at it together : 

''MY DEAR ARDEN — I am sorry I could not 
keep my promise of coming down this week-end 
to look after yon, and can only hope you are not 
insufferably bored/^ 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


("'Dear Brother Bill, I love him for his hopes 
and fears/’) The fact is 

("Now for the truth/’ interpolated the sister 
again) these theatricals of ours keep me too 
busy. I have been hard at it ever since you left 
me, and I have made tremendous progress. My 
reading of the part is not quite yours, I hear. 
Beauclerk I find somewhat overweighted with in- 
trigue. I am trying to arrange a comic scene for 
him with the milkmaid. 

("Just heaven!” groaned Paul, "why was this 
man brought across my path?”) Every one 
thinks that this would be an improvement. 

("You are rather solemn, you know,” said 
Lady Maud over his shoulder; "not you, you 
know, but Beauclerk.” The original gulped 
down his feelings and read on.) ^'You need not 
make yourself uneasy. You will not be missed/' 
("Go on,” said Lady Maud impatiently.) ''So 
try and put up with my young sister for a bit — 
("Go on, do,” said Lady Maud, furiously, 
"don’t keep stopping.” Paul went on with a 
jerk.) "and Til let you know when ifs safe for 
you to move. Von Deggendorf is in a very grave 
state, and you must on no account appear. I hear. 

248 


A Curtain Lifter 

indeed that Miss Heimer has returned to Lon- 
don to see him. I am so sorry for the poor heg- 
gar—' 

Arden dropped the letter and looked at his 
companion blankly. A dismayed silence settled 
on them for a minute. 

‘'It doesn't seem to spoil his fun though,” said 
Lady Maud. 

“What's fun to him is death to me,” said Paul. 
“As an understudy he — ” 

“You are one more selfish than another!” ex- 
claimed Lady Maud. “Give me the letter,” she 
said, catching at it. She read on frowningly — 
''so sorry for the poor beggar that I have re- 
signed the Quest to him.'’ 

“Ha!” she laughed scornfully, “it was about 
time when the Quest had gone to him of her own 
accord. I see what it all means well enough, 
though I suppose you would have gaped at it all 
night.” 

Paul, his good conceit at a discount, shut his 
mouth quickly and sat up to listen. “Who is this 
Miss Vane?” 

Inclined to gape again, he kept his lips shut. 

“There is this much to be said for you; that 


249 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

had she made the same impression on you you 
would not be so blind to Billinghurst’s schemes. 
7 have made tremendous progress, I have re- 
signed the Quest. You will not be missed — stay 
zuhere you are/ My good man, it just means that 
he is having a good time and can do without your 
presence on the stage and off 

The perversity of his vanity made this interpre- 
tation comparatively soothing, and he thought 
more kindly of Billinghurst. ‘'He can do what 
he likes off,” he said incautiously. 

“And Mr. Raggleston? Your acute mind has 
of course perceived that your precious Quest 
must have been resigned by him to my brother.” 

He got up rather hastily and threw away his 
cigarette. “I think I had better go straight home 
tomorrow,” he said. 

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t,” she said 
mildly. “Even if you have to leave again. But 
there is more of this.” 

“Yes? He doesn’t even know when he has 
said enough.” 

“T omorrow's dress rehearsal is to he public for 
the benefit of a charity, I go to your friends, the 
Vanes, for tonight, in order that Miss Vane may 


i250 


A Curtain Lifter 

coach me as far as possible, I am getting on like 
a house on hre'^ 

''Her conception of the part!” muttered Paul 
despairingly. 

"Her conception undoubtedly, I should say,” 
she concurred. 

*Lie doggo, and 1 tvill arrange everything for 
the best'* 

Comic relief — getting on like a house on Href* 

Stirred to their depths they gazed on the let- 
ter, breathing fiercely. 

"Our alliance must not expire Until we have 
seen the end of this,” said Paul. "I implore 
your help in withdrawing your brother from these 
theatricals. He will ruin everything.” 

"You shall have it.” 

"He will overdo the part.” 

"I fear so.” 

"If only I could save the last act” — ^he raised 
his arms in agitation. 

"We must stop that, certainly,” said Lady 
Maud, with a decision that surprised him. 

"I will look in on them tomorrow at all costs.” 

"So will I.” 

"But tomorrow—” 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

''Listen. I know how we can escape Mr. West. 
Go to bed now and be out of the way when the 
house is cleared. Tomorrow morning we will 
both go to town early before they are up. I will 
drive you down in my cart. Don’t oversleep 
yourself, but have your bag packed and be ready 
by eight o’clock.” 

"If the faithful James will stand by me it can 
be done. You are my good genius, though your 
house be hostile.” 

They said good night on the bargain and Lady 
Maud hurried back to her guests who were be- 
ginning to move. 

From the drawing room came the sound of 
voices as they mustered preparatory to leave-tak- 
ing and Paul acting on her advice and permission 
made straight for his bedroom without much 
fear of his withdrawal being noticed. 

From his open window he watched, with cau- 
tious head, the carriage lamps raying the dark 
evergreens that hedged the gravel, and reckoned 
the lessening numbers downstairs as family omni- 
bus or hardy dog-cart turned away from the 
steps. 

He hajd a growing, indeed an overgrown, fear 
252 


A Curtain Lifter 


that, the evening ended, his inquisitors would as- 
cend in search of him, and he was comforted 
when shadows fell across the oblongs of light 
from Lord Horsham's room at the east corner, 
and voices and wreathing smoke through the open 
windows made it plain that the greater leisure 
of some nearer neighbors had procured him a 
respite from attention. 

He began now to put his things together. 

It was a matter of regret to him that he should 
be forced to leave without acknowledgment, and 
he questioned whether it were possible for the 
high-toned outlaw or feudatory foe invariably to 
preserve his manners. The occasion must arise, 
as now, when farewells must be dispensed with 
and hospitality, though involuntary, go un- 
thanked. 

He would be in a fine position to blackmail the 
next Lord Horsham, he thought as he packed. 
'Tf the man drives me into the criminal class I 
shall take it out of Billinghurst one day. And 
I need not share with Raggleston either. I should 
know too much about him. I wonder how much 
Daisy knows about him." 

He sat on the bed and wondered. ‘Tf he were 


253 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

tamed and combed and washed he might not be so 
bad/^ he considered. He lay back, his arms under 
his head, and rambled on sleepily. ‘Terhaps I 
had better hang Raggleston and marry her to the 
future Marquis, seeing I should have the family 
in my power; or let Raggleston off if he will 
marry Molly Vane. And he ought to jump at it. 
Or the Heimer, if he paid me a million down. 
Then we could keep up this place nicely. We 
could — we — He dozed and dreamed pleasant- 
ly, to wake with a start to the striking of the 
stable clock. It was midnight, his candle was 
burnt low, and beneath the window Lord 
Horsham was saying good night to the last of 
his guests. 

He blew out the guttering light, and slipped 
into bed, mindful that he was in the house of the 
Capulets. 

He awoke to receive his instructions from 
JameSi 

^‘Breakfast in the library this morning, Sir, as 
soon as you are ready. The cart is not coming 
round as her Ladyship will start from the stable- 
yard.’^ 

He descended to find her ladyship as fresh as 


A Curtain Lifter 

paint, breakfast steaming, and the terrier’s mouth 
being stopped with buttered scones. 

‘'He has found us out and unless he is fed he 
threatens to bark the house down,” she explained. 

They did not linger over the table and Lady 
Maud picking up her gloves and taking down her 
whip, drove the dog under the couch and they 
made for the stables, where her mare and cart, 
drawn off the clattering yard into the roadside, 
awaited their coming. Paul glanced back at the 
sleeping house as they fled down the drive, but it 
opened no eye, and the rush of sweet morning 
air brought an exhilarating sense of risk avoided 
and adventure yet unchecked. 

“They couldn’t catch us now even if they were 
awake,” she said, settling her hat. “My Meggy 
can lose anything in the stables in the first half 
mile. You have been expecting to hear ‘let the 
portcullis fair any time this half hour, I am 
sure.” 

He owned his relief, and the mare getting onto 
the straight of the high road, they began to lay 
their plans for the day, 

Paul was to make straight for his home, mak- 
ing the best of his start, get supplies for a further 


255 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

period of outlawry, enlighten Daisy, exhort and 
browbeat Raggleston, if found on the premises, 
and repair at lunch time to a rendezvous agreed 
on. 

Lady Maud was to inform herself of the Sur- 
wood performance, time and place, and make such 
other inquiries into delicate matters as her hither- 
to fair fame made permissible. 

Meggy and the uptrain reached West Stead- 
ham together, and the transfer had to be made 
with dispatch, Paul's bag being thrust into the 
carriage with them, a detail of incidental con- 
cern, for they were no sooner under fair headway 
than she cried out that all would be lost if he 
arrived in town in his own person. 

‘‘I was unwilling to inflict an obnoxious trav- 
eling companion on you," he said in explanation. 

''I must put up with that. Goodbye, Mr. Ar- 
den. Sorry to see your face no more, but time is 
imperative." 

He got out his make-up, his spirit-gum and 
his brushes. She helped to tie his big foulard, 
objecting to his appearance as it grew, and her 
coolness towards him became marked when he 
surveyed her through his re-moun 


A Curtain Lifter 

His moustache grew in pliancy under the un- 
resting fingers, his r’s became more pronounced 
every mile. 

At Croydon she was already withdrawn to the 
far corner of the carriage, and at Victoria they 
parted as strangers to the confusion of Scotland 
Yard cleverly disguised as a crowd ; which Lady 
Maud threaded rapidly and alone. Monsieur 
Beauclerk's conquering glance following her 
flight as he handed his luggage to a porter. To- 
wards one o’clock they met again, though not as 
friends she was careful to point out. Only the 
common bond of self-interest could have made 
her sit down with him, even in the semi-privacy 
of a first floor dining room. 

His morning had produced little. He had let 
himself in with his latch-key, but found no one. 
Raggleston had been at the house most days, it 
seemed, and this morning his sister had left word 
that she was lunching out. 

'Trobably with Raggleston,” complained Paul. 
^'He has no anxieties, for I have made them 
mine. He has no regrets. He leaves them to 
your brother. He has no prospects, so he takes 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


the German’s, and he has no sister to look after, 
so he takes someone else’s. He ought to go far, 
that fellow.” 

"'Do you think we shall find them at Surwood ?” 

"Oh, in the front row, no doubt. And I shall 
be standing at the back.” 

"It’s as well you are seated now, or someone 
would call waiter,” she said. 

Seizing his napkin he tied it round his neck. 
"Your public denial of me this morning cut me 
to the heart, but if you revile me I know how to 
revenge myself.” 

With a piece of bread in his fingers he set about 
his plate, mopping up the gravy with gustatory 
indrawings of the breath. 

She choked with annoyance and turned to see 
if they were alone. 


258 


CHAPTER XIV 


NOT IN THE BILL 


S LOWLY coming up the room was none 
other than the predatory Raggleston 
himself, wholly absorbed in Paul's ap- 
pearance and performance and plainly 
incensed at the exhibition. 

She turned again hastily and said in a furious 
whisper, ^'Here they are ; and I'll never speak to 
you again." 

Her announcement was premature, for if he 
expected Daisy she was not yet come. 

He sat down at the next table interposing Lady 
Maud's straight young back between himself and 
the unpleasant spectacle opposite her. Her back 
was not reminiscent or some face was present 
with him, for he stared unseeingly at its lines, 
and as for Paul, even untravestied he might not 


259 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

have remembered the arbiter of a squabble on an 
evening which had left no very clearly defined 
features on his memory, except from the final 
scene. 

With gratification and misgiving, both, Paul 
saw him to be dressed with a subdued splendour 
which sat well enough on him, for his healthy 
colour and hard condition dominated the tailor’s 
efforts, who out of a weedy customer can only 
make a dude. 

His hat and gloves were seeing the world for 
the first time, but they were laid aside and he 
rubbed his head with his hands in visible irrita- 
tion and perplexity as he studied a letter open 
on the table in front of him. 

It was from Lord Billinghurst, and in it that 
admirable youth had laid himself out to rub into 
his friend the moral of a violent life. Whether 
or no his correspondent rose to his lofty stand- 
point, he was certainly concerned with his news, 
and the moving picture drawn of the sick bed at* 
the Embassy, soothed and attended by the unsel- 
fish and conscience-stricken Billinghurst ; and the 
indicated vision of the mournful procession soon 
to leave its doors, harassed the regenerate Rag- 

260 


Not in the Bill 


gleston more than a little, and brought him ac- 
quainted with the difficulty of turning a new 
leaf. There is the debit to carry over. 

Biting his nails he re-read with resentment and 
regret his friend’s eloquent periods, and fidgeted 
on his chair. 

'A shadow fell on his table as the opposite seat 
was approached, and he jumped up with a greet- 
ing to be met by the ingratiating grin and eye- 
glass of the greedy foreigner from the corner. 

‘'Mr. Raggleston^ n' est-ce-pa^f he enquired 
extending a hand from which the other drew back 
as if it had been a scavenger’s. The rebuff was 
passed over with the tact of a man who knows 
himself to be among savages, and declining grace- 
fully into the empty chair the intruder pursued 
with a wink and an insinuating lift of the eye- 
brow. 

'T take someone’s place I fear. You are lady- 
killer, hein? Who is someone, I wonder. Ver’ 
nice someone, hein?” He laughed knowingly. 
"Fraulein Heimer, is it — or Mees Arden?” 

"Who the deuce are you?” said Raggleston 
fiercely; "I don’t know you.” 

The other shook a reproachful finger. 

261 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

^‘That is not polite talk. I know you, my 
friend. Hard words break no bones as you say 
here, but they lead to — ^broken swords sometimes, 
heinr 

Raggleston started and his forehead flushed. 

''I know you now,’’ he said. ‘'You’re a de- 
tective. And I can tell you who hired your dis- 
reputable services, too.” 

The detective smiled slowly as if with enjoy- 
ment, and curled his moustache with both hands. 

'T watch Miss Arden’s interests,” he said. 

Raggleston leaned confidentially across the 
table. 

‘Tf you mention Miss Arden again I will throw 
you downstairs,” he said. 

His expression was not pleasant, but the de- 
tective smiled unmoved. 

"He has others within a whistle,” thought Rag- 
gleston to himself, "but who is this girl with 
him?” 

The lady beyond was without doubt following 
their conversation, but she had pulled down her 
veil and turned no degree of her profile. 

"I will say no more of her then,” resumed the 
foreigner, keeping up his irritating smile, "for the 

262 


Not in the Bill 


stairs are hard. But it is not long since Mr. 
Raggleston’s affections were elsewhere.'’ 

'‘If it were not that Daisy Arden may turn up 
at any moment/' thought Raggleston. He felt 
his hands tied. He could not deal justice to this 
fellow and be caught in the midst of the scrim- 
mage, so he swallowed his feelings and brought 
himself to parley. 

"Look here you, I don't want a row in this 
place because I — because you are with a — you 
are not alone. Kindly go back to your seat and if 
you want to interview me afterwards, there is the 
smoking-room." So Mr. Raggleston with stately 
sulkiness. 

"That is much better," said the foreign gentle- 
man, rubbing his hands. "I go with gladness. 
Afterwards you will perhaps present me. For I 
am not deceived — ah, no !" 

He laughed and winked, but vacated his chair 
with polite agility, directing Raggleston's atten- 
tion, as he rose, to Daisy, who now appeared 
hurrying up the room. 

Raggleston, who had been holding onto the 
table to restrain himself, rose to meet her, and 
Daisy, only conscious that she was behind time, 

263 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


at once sat down in the empty place paying no 
heed to the whispered suggestion that they should 
occupy some other table. 

‘'But this will do perfectly/’ she said, sitting 
down back to back with Lady Maud, Raggleston 
trying not to see the objectionable foreigner still 
relishing the gravy on his finger-tips and dodging 
his vivacious head to obtain a glimpse of this 
latest presentment of the appealing feminine. 
‘^CharmanteT said he audibly. 

“Brute!” from Raggleston, still more audibly. 

Murmured severities and surprise from Miss 
Arden, and angry remonstrance at the other ta- 
ble, not audible but visible to Raggleston in the 
agitation of the hat nodding towards the depre- 
cating shrug and placating smile of the cavalier. 

“I’d throw him out of the window for two- 
pence,” said Raggleston. “Waiter, for heaven’s 
sake take that gentleman a fork.” Daisy looked 
at him in astonishment. 

“D — , that’s too much.” He bounded to his 
feet, oversetting his chair, for the foreigner with 
a wink at him and a leer at the sacred person of 
his guest, had blown a kiss from his unclean 
finger tips. 


264 


Not in the Bill 


Daisy turned in alarm to see Raggleston’s an- 
gry clutch fasten on a hairy and exotic-looking 
outlander whdse napkined. neck had slipped to 
the level of the table edge, while a veiled lady 
shaken with some strong emotion, seized Raggles- 
ton by his left arm' in no fairy grip', her feelings 
finding vent in a scream, of laughter as Daisy 
herself after one agitated moment, cried 'Taul! 
Paul ! Paul !” in crescendo and with every shade 
of alarm, joy and reproach. 

''Maud exclaimed Raggleston, "what on 
earth are you doing here with this dashed French- 
man r 

"Paul, are you mad? Please let him go, Mr. 
Raggleston,’’ implored Daisy. 

"Paul !” said Raggleston feebly, releasing him. 

"You have broken my collar,” said the French- 
man, rising. "The duel is certainly preferable to 
the vulgar brawl. I thought, Mr. Raggleston, 
that I had despatched you on a Quest of some 
moment, but you are back on my hands again.” 

"Paul Arden,” murmured Raggleston, wiping 
his brow. "Well, if you weren’t your sister’s 
brother. I’d—” 

He tried to listen to Lady Maud’s incoherent 
265 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


account while Daisy scolded and pitied her 
brother, but it was not until they had all settled 
down to coffee and recriminations, that he began 
to understand his company. 

Lady Maud rallied him hard on his mystifica- 
tion and on his dejected look. Assured that she 
was in the secret he showed her her brother’s 
letter. He was in a praiseworthy and lugubrious 
frame of mind, but she met his serious headshak- 
ings with fresh laughter partly stirred by the 
visibly chastening influences working on him. 

begin to have more respect for Bill,” she 
cried, ^'when I see how he can lead you two by 
the nose. He always allowed me to hold you 
responsible for his misdoings, but I believe he is 
the biggest humbug in the Constitution.” 

‘‘But,” said Raggleston, “if he has been with 
Von Deggendorf all the week — scarcelv left his 
bedside — ^he says.” 

This was too strong, and Paul joined in and 
produced his own letter. 

“You see he overdoes the part, as I said.” 

“Yes^ he’s not a convincing actor. Perhaps 
he’ll do himself more justice in the scene with 
the milkmaid.” 


266 


Not in the Bill 


“I can never permit it/’ said Paul hotly. 

‘'Nobody will attend to him when you enter 
the room/’ said Raggleston. 

“I should hope not,” said Paul serenely. 

But they were all agreed to go. Lady Maud 
stoutly maintained that there was nothing the 
matter with Mr. von Deggendorf and she said 
further, “I believe my brother knows it.” 

Daisy smiled with glad lips, and they were all 
much cheered by the sister’s plain-spoken and 
authoritative opinion of the plausible Billing- 
hurst. 

Paul, however, mindful that his position might 
easily become ridiculous even to himself, sounded 
the note of caution, but the others were unani- 
mous in denouncing his appearance and renounc- 
ing his company. 

Either he dropped his role or he traveled to 
Surwood alone. The first alternative he refused 
to discuss, for he had a last scheme in prospect in 
which his make-up was essential. 

As to the second, “You need not know me/’ he 
urged. “Let me be with you if not of you.” 

Daisy, not knowing if he were again lost sight 
267 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

of when he would reappear, supported his plea, 
and the arrangement was carried. 

‘'But, remember, you shyster!’’ warned Rag- 
gleston, “if you attempt to speak to any of us, 
even to your sister — ” 

“Especially to my sister, you mean,’’ inter- 
jected Paul. 

Raggleston ignored the amendment, but sup- 
pressed his threat. 

The shyster retired to readjust his outer man, 
and the others went on ahead to the station, 
where he was to join them. 

They established themselves in an empty car- 
riage some ten minutes before the time of start- 
ing. 

Raggleston, reminded by his surroundings, en- 
tertained a furtive expectation of Miss Heimer 
coming to thicken the plot, and he had her com- 
manding form, unstinted millinery and various 
appanages before his mind’s eye when the door- 
way was blocked by a very different figure — the 
short, skimped and unattended person of Lady 
Theodosia. 

She accepted Raggleston’s help up the step 
without noticing him, threw a parasol and string 

268 


Not in the Bill 


bag into the middle seat, and dropped panting into 
the corner. 

Daisy felt her arm gripped in real or pretended 
fright, and the air was thick with wireless mes- 
sages of alarm, question, sympathy, and promises 
of mutual support when Lady Theodosia opened 
her eyes after her moment’s collapse. 

''Maud !” she cried ; "my word, young woman ! 
But what have you done with him?” she said, 
looking round the carriage. "Mr. Raggleston! 
Then where is this Beauclerk?” 

"And who is he?” asked Raggleston with 
good-humoured interest. 

But she had turned to Daisy. 

"Why, dear me, you are the young lady whose 
brother was lost!” 

She turned and looked at Raggleston again as 
if to confirm her recollection. "Did Mr. Raggles- 
ton find him for you?” 

"Yes,” said Daisy, "Mr, Raggleston found 
him.” 

"Yes, I cornered him,” confirmed Raggleston. 

Lady Maud gave a sniff of derision, and her 
aunt looking rather stonily upon her altered the 
direction of her inquiries. 

269 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


''But there is another young man to seek now. 
Maud, what have you done with this Mr. Beau- 
clerk? Your father is very much annoyed with 
you.'' 

"My dear Aunt, what have you done with Bil- 
linghurst?" retorted her niece rather smartly. 
"We are all very anxious to find fern." 

"Your brother has been playing Box and Cox 
with me for a week," protested Lady Theo. "He 
is in bed when I go out, and out when I go to 
bed. I didn't invite him and I won’t be made 
responsible for him." 

There was a fluency in her defence which sa- 
voured of preliminary delivery at Burton Pad- 
docks that morning. 

"But this Beauclerk — do you know that he is 
wanted by the police ?” 

"Then he must look out for himself. Three 
can keep counsel when two are away. I didn't 
invite him and I won’t be made responsible for 
him." 

"You take it very lightly," said Lady Theo 
disappointed of her effect; "but you have aided 
the escape of a suspected character. Miss Arden/ 


270 


Not in the Bill 


I am convinced, would be more careful whom 
she knew.” 

Daisy trembled like a guilty thing surprised, 
but Raggleston wagged his head. 

‘'You should be more careful, Maud,” he said. 
"If you are seen about with all sorts of scally- 
wags — ” 

Daisy moved uneasily, but Lady Theo cried 
delightedly, "You see Mr. Raggleston is of my 
opinion.” 

Lady Maud bit her veil in a rage and bided 
her time. 

"This Beauclerk has deceived your father and 
you and Mr. West, but he never deceived me. 
My work among the lower classes enables me to 
recognise a criminal at a glance. I don’t mean 
that his type was pronounced,” she said address- 
ing herself to Daisy, who had uttered an insup- 
pressible cry of protest. "His appearance would 
have deceived you, too, no doubt.” 

"Never!” said Daisy with unexpected firmness. 

"Yet you are very easily imposed on,” said 
Lady Maud, spitefully, swinging her foot and 
glowering at Raggleston. 

"Now I, for instance,” cried Lady Theo, 


271 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


^'should know him again anywhere and in any 
disguise/’ 

As she spoke, the guard, outside the carriage 
door, let out his gathered impatience into his 
whistle, and, as the train stirred, turned to meet 
his van on its outward progress, and Raggleston’s 
head, which had been hanging out of the window, 
was withdrawn as a belated foreigner in the last 
stage of excitement, cast himself upon the offi- 
cial’s breast, demanding, ^'the first class of Sur- 
wood, you show me him^ hein?” 

In three swift movements the prompt guard 
opened their door, cast the alien from himself and 
through it, slammed it behind him, and was past 

Lady Theo snatched at her parasol, but was 
too late to save her string bag on which the new- 
comer came down to the sound of cracking bis- 
cuits and snapped knitting needles. 

Disconcerted for the moment she was soon 
mollified by his expression of his desolation. Like 
the wise lady in Wonderland, she cried out much 
louder before an evil than after it. To do her 
justice she had some share of philosophy. Mis- 
tress of herself, did anything fall she never has- 
tened to pick up the pieces. Once down it won’t 


Not in the Bill 


suffer from lying, she would remark. Her neph- 
ew who had the hereditary knack of detecting 
serviceable qualities in others, had been first at- 
tracted to her side by her manly insensitiveness 
to the sight of a glass on the edge of a table. 
Equilibrium asserts itself there as well as in the 
middle she had permitted herself to say, and the 
boy had treasured the pronouncement for home 
use, to the widening of the family breach. 

She was now considering her neighbour pretty 
frankly, and not without a kindly interest. As an 
evolutionist, she would have pointed out, she 
regarded a Frenchman not as a specially created 
lower form, but as a thing of possibilities — an un- 
developed Englishman. Fundamentally con- 
vinced moreover that Truth is always recognised 
if properly displayed — that a heathen is a Chris- 
tian in want of a missionary, and an aboriginal 
black an innocent demoralised by the colonials — 
she always spoke kindly to continentals and would 
animadvert on the manners of her countrymen 
whose bearing was calculated unduly to depress 
and discourage them in their struggle towards 
the light. The Latin race was lower than the 
Anglo-Saxon, no doubt, as the yellow race is be- 


273 


Helen of Troy, N. T. 

hind the white, but much might be done by cul- 
tivation. Could the Pope be induced to read the 
Bible, the Frenchman’s moral standard be raised, 
and the German be weaned from beer and mili- 
tarism, the tribes of the continent might yet ap- 
proximate to the Chosen People. 

Casual conversation in a railway carriage was 
a favourite gambit in the game of leading stran- 
gers by devious moves up to her masked batter- 
ies, and she soon had her neighbour in conduct 
along a path to bring him within range. And 
everyone spoke up today ; there was no occasion 
to ask ‘"what.” 

'‘And what are you doing here? Are you 
travelling for pleasure ?” 

"I travel to know your language and observe 
your abits,” replied the stranger with docility. 

This was excellent well. 

"Habit we say,” she corrected. "And how dd 
we strike you?” 

"Strike me? Ze box, hein?” 

"No, no; I mean what do you think of our 
habits?” 

But apparently the glint of Raggleston’s new 
hat had thrown the stranger off the rails again. 

274 


Not in the Bill 


'"The ’abits of the men are beautiful/’ he said, 
gazing at Raggleston with admiration through 
his gold-rimmed glass. ‘Xike what you call a 
wedding garment.” 

Raggleston shook himself sulkily, and got 
rather red about the ears. Lady Theo tchicked 
with impatience, but she was led to look at Rag- 
gleston also. 

'"You are certainly very smart today, Mr. Rag- 
gleston^ if I may be permitted to say so.” 

'Would you like me to look like that/^ he said, 
indicating her neighbour. 

This was a desirable opening, and the insular- 
ity and insolence of Mr. Raggleston were prop- 
erly punished before he could decently retire be- 
hind his paper again. 

"You young people,” she concluded, looking 
round her, "could learn much even in a railway 
carriage, if you chose.” 

"You also travel for information?” inquired 
the Frenchman innocently. 

"I do nothing without a reason/’ she replied, 
casting a reflection on the company. "For in- 
stance, do you know why I travel first-class ? Be- 
cause the seats are divided” — she patted the leath- 


275 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


ern arm-rests on each side of her. ^'Because it’s 
cheaper/’ she paused for a contradiction. "The 
other classes are less expensive, but they all 
subject one to the pressure always put upon the 
undersized; and when your neighbours overlap 
you they travel to an appreciable extent at your 
expense. Why do I carry my lunch in a bag? 
Because if I satisfy my modest hunger at an hotel 
there is not a man in the room who is not eating 
at my cost. Two shillings worth of cold beef 
is eaten, six-penny worth by me, and eighteen- 
penny worth by him, and we each pay a shilling. 
When I meet some grenadier of a woman on my 
dressmaker’s staircase I know that whole yards 
of her dress are down on my bill. Her gloves 
and her boots cost her no more than mine cost 
me. An overgrown creature sits in front of me 
at the theatre. He sees the piece and I see him. 
And we pay the same. It is a great injustice. In 
a day of fixed prices it is well to be big. The 
necessaries of life are pooled and the value aver- 
aged per head of the population. We all pay 
alike at the door, so to speak, and consume all we 
can on the strawberry-garden principle, and one 
eats a peck where another can only manage a 


Not in the Bill 


pottle. Big hands, big feet and a big appetite 
proclaim the social parasite. Income-tax should 
be adjusted to stature.’’ 

^That is ver’ true,” affirmed her neighbour, 
careful not to lean on the arm of her seat. ''One 
man will drink whisky soda — one, two, tree, four 
— ^go after pretty girl — one two, tree — ” 

"Tut, tut!” said Lady Theo. 

"Wear the fine clothes, have good time, beano, 
hein? Other man he pay for all, have bad time, 
shocking !” 

Lady Maud giggled, and Raggleston kept be- 
hind his paper, but Clapham being reached he 
thrust his head out for some air, quickly with- 
drawing it with the muttered remark, "Let ’em 
all come,” as Bobby Vane put his hand on the 
carriage door. 

Greatly charmed at the sight of Daisy, he 
asked if there was room. 

"Yes, there is a place for you, Mr. Vane,” said 
Daisy. 

For him! was it his fancy that she laid soft 
stress on the word? He sat down by her, and 
opposite to Beauclerk, at whom he gazed with a 
patent effort to place him. His arrival recharged 


277 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

the atmosphere with nervousness, and fear for 
themselves which had been dispelled since, by 
their united efforts, Lady Theodosia had been 
hoisted onto her hobby-horse to tilt at windmills, 
now repossessed them. 

Paul hesitated to bestow a wink on him, fear- 
ing its reflection from his unsuspicious face. 
Daisy sought by more than ordinary graciousness 
and by introducing him to the other two ladies 
to distract his attention, and Raggleston by a 
ruder diplomacy to put him out of countenance. 

Bobby pleased with his impression at first re- 
sponded to the softer wiles. But he was hypno- 
tised by the stranger and his place of origin and 
connection with the Ardens gradually came back 
to him. He opened his mouth to broach the mat- 
ter when Raggleston on the watch^ inquired : 

"'Been to any more night clubs, you dissipated 
rooster?’’ 

“Night clubs !” cried Lady Theodosia, uo agam, 
“who goes to night clubs?” 

‘'He does,” said the unsportsmanlike friend. 
“Mr. Vane is a dog.” 

“It is a very bad account of a young man!” 
she cried. ‘^Dog is the word! Do you know, 

278 


Not in the Bill 


Mr. Vane^ that I never meet a young man but 
I ask myself, has he a tail T' 

Even Daisy laughed this time. 

''A young man with a bad habit has a very 
ugly appendage ! Man is supposed to have shed 
his tail, but it appears again, at least to me, when 
he returns to bad ways. If it is allowed to grow 
the tail begins to wag the dog. Then the dog 
gets a bad name, and then you know what hap- 
pens.’^ 

"'He is 'anged,’’ said the foreigner, placidly, 
who by this time had made himself her ally and 
echo. "Oh, yes. I know him — your idiom. 
Honneur among thieves. ’E who fights and rons 
away leeves to fight nozzer day. Devil take ze 
’indmost.’' 

She smiled upon him indulgently, but Bobby, 
who had certainly been abominably treated, said : 

"You could talk English last time I met you, 
Beauclerk.’’ 

The shot landed right in the magazine, and 
the defenders held their breath. 

Lady Theodosia started and the satisfaction 
faded from her face. She looked, winced, and 


279 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


looked again. Then with a sudden recoil she 
shrank into her corner as from a snake. 

The train slowed down and stopped as silence 
fell, and Mr. Beauclerk, now presented to the 
company, slipped without adieu or apology from 
the compartment, and left his character behind 
him. 


280 


CHAPTER XV 


IN FRONT 


A SPRINKLE of rain daunted the issu- 
ing passengers and congested the exit, 
but Paul was one of the first through,’ 
and turning up his collar ran for the 
town hall, a matter of a couple of hundred yards 
up the street. 

Large yellow bills flanked the steps, and what 
with the uncertainty of the weather, the dis- 
tinguished patronage promised, the charitable 
purpose, and the kindly hopes of seeing friends 
and relations making an exhibition of them- 
selves, the hall promised to fill. He paid his 
shilling, and as his unusual purpose was to get 
at the back instead of the front he was nof 
balked of it, and secured a bench-end against the 
wall in the back row under the shadow of the 


281 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

gallery and within the sphere of influence of an 
open window. The excessive heat at amateur 
theatricals is no doubt due in a measure to the 
feverishness of the performers. At any rate it 
is a marked symptom. 

Here he sat concealed, and presently saw his 
party enter. Lady Theodosia first, lips com- 
pressed, and looking neither right nor left. There 
had evidently been words. The others, on the 
contrary, were looking everywhere — for him. 

He dived promptly and read his programme, 
where he found not only Lady Theodosia down 
as a patroness, but the patronage of the Marquis 
of Horsham, K. G., extended right across the 
page. It was no new thing, but a week ago the 
Marquis and his family had been less to him 
than the call-boy or the programme sellers. ^^He 
won’t come,” he concluded. "‘He has only lent 
his name.” His own name was on the pro- 
gramme. That was evidence of its early print- 
ing — unless Billinghurst was minded to shield 
the blame of his performance behind the good 
name of another. 

This was a mortifying reflection. He had sac- 
rificed the conduct and brief career of Lord 


282 


In Front 


Beauclerk at the call of Duty, but he had not 
foreseen that his own professional reputation 
would be injured. It was a dastardly act. That 
Billinghurst should murder his favourite creature 
was an outrage — that it should be done in his 
name was ah abomination. He had clung to his 
make-up in the vague hope of some timely failure 
of his understudy — he might yet properly fill 
the breach and save the situation in its entirety ; 
and this in spite of the fact that the conditions 
demanding his absence from any stage were 
still, so far as he knew, in existence. But the 
opening was yet to be found. 

The front of the hall filled with colour and 
movement as rain and dust cloaks were removed, 
the back had been filled with drab for some time, 
stiller in . its mass as more tightly packed, and 
the light spray of wet brought out the odour of 
broadcloth and boot-polish. 

Bobby, early taken by a press-gang of sisters, 
was flying up and down, all arms and legs, show- 
ing families into wrong seats, and a great buzz 
of talk filled the confined air. 

The footlights were already up and the curtain 
bulged- ^and wavered, shadowing the instalment 

283 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

of staggering scenery; and violent noises, her- 
alded or followed by stifled shouts, came from 
the back of beyond. 

Paul listened grimly. The Surwood D. C. had 
been born to better things. Under his manage- 
ment order had reigned and such an occasion 
would never have been marred by the ineffi- 
ciency of the half-baked amateur. 

A reporter leaned against the wall at his elbow. 
Paul saw him note the passage of a Paquin 
costume, and himself not unimpressed asked 
the name as soon as the reporter had returned 
his pencil to his teeth. 

^^Heimer,’^ said the newsman through his 
pencil. 

''Miss Heimer — ah he nodded in recognition. 
"Great heiress, is she not?'' 

"Millions," confirmed the reporter. "'Meri- 
can, I b'lieve." 

Miss Heimer stood for a moment observed of 
all, calmly arguing with the flustered Bobby; 
then subsided into the seat of her choice and 
became invisible as a settled butterfly. 

And now the band struck up, and innumerable 
matrons, suddenly reminded after half an hour's 

284 


In Front 

talk that they had something to say^ straightened 
unsatisfied heads from the confidential angle, and 
sat suffering from suppressed conversation. 

The band ceased, the lights went down, the 
curtain went up, a few frenzied whispers found 
vent, and Miss Vane was disclosed sitting on 
a milking stool singing a stave of a simple ditty 
expressive of her artless maidenhood. 

Paul stood up in his agitation. Yes, the scene 
was rightly set, Molly looked well, spoke slowly, 
and faced her audience courageously, and had 
given up talking into her flower-basket. 

'"She has no business to be sitting there, though. 
Thafs Beauclerk’s entrance. Ten to one she 
leaves the stool there and he falls over it. I told 
her again and again about that,’’ he fumed. ‘^But 
perhaps Billinghurst has a comic entry over the 
obstacle.” 

The bitter jest proved bitter fact. The raf- 
fine nobleman, wandering into the rural retreat 
in his Piccadilly clothes, stumbled elaborately 
over the stool prepared for him, raising shouts of 
delight from Paul’s neighbours as he surveyed 
the legs of his trousers through his eyeglass, 

285 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

which he held — yes, held — to his eye between 
his finger and thumb. 

Paul reeled against the reporter. 

’Ullo,’’ said the reporter; ‘"feelin" queer?’’ 

"'It’s nothing,” he said faintly, "the heat — ” 

"That’s young Arden,” said the other, unwill- 
ing to miss anything; "he’s a funny fellow, I 
hear.” 

Roars of laughter from the audience. 

"Did you see that ?” cried the reporter in high 
glee; "my word! but she smacked his face for 
him.” 

With folded arms and furious set countenance 
Paul stood and watched the development of the 
act and the degradation of his part. 

Far from word-perfect Billinghurst did not 
hesitate to gag, and his dissolute example had 
plainly loosened the fabric so carefully woven 
by his predecessor. But it stood the strain fairly, 
and when the act closed and applause marked if 
an assured success he felt that his work had not 
been throwh away. 

His neighbours were wiping tears of joy from 
their cheeks and the reporter’s experienced pencil 
was evidently favourable. 

286 


In Front 

''Not much like a reel lord, though, is he?’’ 
he said. "But he’s an amusing young chap, that 
Arden.” 

"His name is not Arden,” said Paul irritably ; 
"Arden is not acting. That was his under- 
study.” 

"Reely,” said the reporter, opening his note- 
book again; "do you know who it is?” 

"I know Mr. Arden,” said Paul, but the eva- 
sion was fatal to his credit. 

"Ah! off the stage pr’aps,” said the reporter 
with an annoying smile. "I dessay you don’t 
reconnise him.” 

"Nonsense,” said Paul, with growing irrita- 
tion; "I tell you it is not Mr. Arden,’’ 

"Then who is it?” said the reporter. "Tell me 
that — who is it?” 

He looked round him, for others were drawing 
to the dispute, and Paul found himself unpopular 
from the start, as one seeking to deprive the pub- 
lic of a name printed on its bill of fare. 

" ’Ow does 'e know ?” expressed the general 
sense. 

A fireman whom Paul had never seen in his 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

life before claimed acquaintance with the whole 
cast. 

^'Not but that the stage is wonderful deceiving, 
with the lights an’ all that — but I know Mr. Ar- 
den well enough. Though, mind you,” he said 
to Paul, being a temperate man, though of a stout 
and fiery appearance — 'T never see’d him act as 
well as today.” 

'Tshaw !” exclaimed Paul, his feelings master- 
ing him, ^'he couldn’t have done it worse.” 

"Terhaps you could have done it better,” said 
the reporter^ getting in the telling counter ad 
hontinem. 

Paul was floored, of course, and the crowd 
jumped on him. 

‘^Some people’s so ready to set everyone right, 
and it’s always them as knows least,” said one 
matron, but her companion, who sat on Paul’s 
left, said more compassionately: ^There’s folks 
as don’t seem able to enjoy themselves nowhere. 
I’m sure you may take ’em to circuses and shows 
and what not and they’ll sit looking moped as 
miserable. It’s their ’ealth likely,” she pursued, 
in all sympathy, contemplating the subject of 
her discourse. ’E looks sickly. ’E reminds me 


288 


In Front 


of my poor ’usband when ’e was alive. ’E’s 
often said to me, 'well, what you can see to 
laugh at beats me,’ ’e’d say. ’E’d often say that 
to me.*' 'Can’t see what you’re a-laughin’ at,’ ’e’d 
say. Only a week before ’e was buried — an’ ’e 
was buried on a Tuesday^ a wet day it was, ’e 
never did like rain — I remember, Lizzy — yoit 
know what a laugher Liz is — she says to him, 
'why, James,’ she says, Tve bought new black 
for your funeral,’ she says. 'I do ’ope,’ she says, 
'you’ll leave me something to pay for it.’ We 
all laughed — well — there! But ’e ’ad never a 
smile. There’s some that’s like that.” 

The other lady agreed, but thought that in 
this case it came from being "stuck up.” "Some 
young fellows think so much of themselves that 
there’s no bearing with them,” she complained. 

Paul sat in gloomy subjection, and heard with- 
out defence the fireman retailing anecdotes of 
himself and Mr. Arden and other members of 
the company. 

The piece proceeded and got to the third act. 
The lights had just gone down when a heavy 
hand on his shoulder pressed the owner into a 
seat by him. It was Raggleston. 

289 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


‘"Couldn’t find you till now/’ he whispered. “I 
thought I had better tell you that Lord Horsham 
has promised to look in before it is over. Lady 
Theo — ” he chuckled — “is beginning to suspect, 
but hasn’t spotted Billinghurst yet. But the old 
man will — in a second. Can’t you do anything? 
Warn Billinghurst, or kill him, or something? 
He’s playing the fool with that girl, and his sis- 
ter’s wild, and his father — by Jove! here he is.”* 
Two forms moved up the dark aisle, preceded 
by some fussy stewards, and for a moment the 
blackened profile of Lord Horsham and his sec- 
retary showed against the rim of the lighted 
stage. Beauclerk was not on in the early part of 
this act, but was due at the close — a disillusioned 
and repentant rake seeking his final happiness 
in the deserted milkmaid of the opening scene — 
a situation Paul had nursed and studied with 
ardour and artistry — the moment of the piece. ’ 
And Billinghurst — he shuddered. Inaction 
was impossible. He would at least go behind. 

“I’ll go with you,” said Raggleston, and they 
slipped from the darkened hall into the dazzling 
afternoon light, and hurried round to the back of 
the building, where they dived into cool obscurity 


290 


In Front 


down a flight of stone steps and up another, 
stayed by no janitors, rather to Raggleston's 
astonishment, who knew something of the drag- 
ons of the stage-door. 

A swing-door faced them across a stone land- 
ing, and Paul, opening it softly, shut it again 
quickly, and Beckoning Raggleston to look closely 
over his shoulder, opened it again some three 
inches. Raggleston applied his eye to the crack, 
filled his lungs for a syren-like whistle, but let 
it out gently. 

The door gave onto a narrow space off the 
wings, and just within it stood Billinghurst, wait- 
ing for his cue, laughing and talking to a man 
who sat on a cane chair with his back to them 
as they peeped. But the yellow hair parted be- 
hind was as individual as a face. It was the 
moribund attache. 

The swing-door was let to with infinite soft- 
ness, and with full hearts the sinner and the 
scapegoat ground each other against the wall. 

Raggleston was for hurling Billinghurst in- 
continently among the footlights, but the other 
with ready counsel and local authority took the 
upper hand. 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 


They passed the door, Paul fled like a shadow 
up the wings to the dressing-rooms, and Raggles- 
ton alone met the startled gaze of the turned 
heads. 

‘'How are you, Deggendorf he asked, gruffly, 
grasping his hand as if it had been the handle of 
a try-your-grip machine. 

The German looked pale and rose gingerly, 
and bowed even more stiffly than was usual with 
him, but he appeared in good spirits, and re- 
turned the pressure quite heartily and with all 
the good feeling in the world. 

Raggleston struggled to say something more, 
but couldn’t shape it, and turned on Lord Bil- 
linghurst, who was dancing a graceful and silent 
pas seulj the extended skirts of his frock-coat 
between his fingers. 

“Who’d have thought of seeing you !” said his 
lordship, blandly, “and don’t you think I write 
an effective style? Play on the affections, and 
all that? Upon my word. Jack, do you know I 
nearly cried over that letter.” He danced emo- 
tionally. “Molly thought it capital.” He nod- 
ded to where the milkmaid sat in a woodland 


292 


In Front 

path of tan-coloured drugget ten paces from 
them, soliloquising in a rustic solitude. 

''Don’t waste your tears,” said Raggleston; 
"when I get you out of here you’ll want ’em. 
And as to Molly, as you call her — ” 

"I say,” said the noble amateur, stopping short 
in his saraband, "don’t let on to Arden about 
this. He will — he might not like my rendering 
of the character, don’t you know. He’s quite 
happy in Sussex — ^but there’s my cue. I’m off— 
I mean I’m on.” 

He turned to go, but his passage was stopped 
by an outstretched arm — an arm which used no 
violence — only raised itself in silent protest on 
his path. 


m 


CHAPTER XVI 


BEHIND 


H IS prototype and present double stood 
in front of him, looking with caustic 
glance on his debased and capering 
duplicate. The broader markings of 
the wandered Frenchman had gone like a gar- 
ment, and the original Lord Beauclerk, touched 
with but a suspicion of Norman ancestry in his 
conquering glance, stood posed for action. 

‘'Arden, by Jove !’" faltered the other, brought i 
up short. “But you rrtust tell me your little tale 
afterwards,” he said, bluffing briskly, and trying 
to pass the barrier hand. 

The tardy but repentant nobleman deigned no 
response. He looked at Raggleston, and on the 
instant the impostor was enfolded in a bear’s hug 
from behind. 


294 


Behind 


'"It is my cue he cried desperately, and strug- 
gled to get free. From the stage, o. p. Molly 
was repeating in tones that began to take a gen- 
uine ring, '‘He comes no more — alas, I am for- 
saken and the stage manager was heard dash- 
ing madly across the back-cloth. 

“Let me go, you idiot, I am wanted!’’ cried 
the comedian. Lord Beauclerk rested a quelling 
eye on his wriggling understudy. 

“There is no harlequinade/’ he said, with icy 
hauteur, and turning trod the boards. 

A moment later and Molly was folded in his 
embrace, and the surprise in her scream moved 
even her admirers to respectful astonishment. 

Beauclerk’s best chest-notes touched with 
tremor, asked her pardon of his neglect — regret- 
ted his profligate career. Had she forgotten him 
— had another filled his place in her esteem? 

Hysterical with emotion, the overtaken damsel 
could but hide her head on his shoulder and gaze 
on him with a bewilderment and apparent rap- 
ture of recovery that drew murmurs of applause. 
Even the believing family of Vane raised ap- 
proving brows. They had not thought she had 
it in her. 




Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

The scene filled. Good old parents, subordi- 
nate lovers, faithful servants, prosperous uncle, 
all looked in without further excuse than the 
finale afforded, and each and all met the prodigal 
Beauclerk on his return to his early love, with 
broken sentences of surprise, which spoke vol- 
umes for their common knowledge of his lurid 
career, and carried dark doubts into the back of 
the room, where the question was mooted 
whether she did well to have him after all. But 
there was no doubt among the fireman’s friends 
that Arden was Arden — 

"'Wonderful ’ow ’e changed his voice at the 
end — spoke out so manly — you could see ’e’d 
turned over a new leaf.” 

The concluding sentiment was delivered — ^by 
Lord Beauclerk, the curtain ran down to loud 
applause, rose and fell again, then thrust back 
from the proscenium let pass the players in de- 
tail. Beauclerk and Molly acknowledged the 
partial raptures of their friends, and the former 
with the pride of the conscious artist, and the 
recovered rectitude of the man, faced the scru- 
tiny of the front rows in untroubled serenity. 

As he backed against the drop, and Molly 

296 


Behind 


crossed him, and he bowed over the flaring foot- 
lights before he followed her, he heard Lord 
Horsham say: 

‘"Call him what you like, that’s the fellow who 
visited me !” 

''Well, I call him Beauclerk,” said Lady Theo- 
dosia in decided accents, and waved her pro- 
gramme. But West waved his — 

"I call him Arden,” he said. 

The house was on its feet and a relieved burst 
of comment, talk and laughter overcame the 
hurly-burly of feet and chairs. The big doors 
were thrown wide, and the blinking audience 
pushed gradually through to the daylight and to 
its five o’clock tea ; but a distinguished few who' 
had relatives behind the curtain or were other- 
wise raised above their fellow men, knew of an 
informal reception in costume by the S. D. C. 
on the stage — in the very glamour of the lime- 
light — and held their ground. 

But behind the curtain was dispute and 
clamour. The S. D. C. was divided against it- 
self. 

The middle of the stage was held, too late, 
by Lord Billinghurst, complaining bitterly of his 


297 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

treatment, and he found a strong supporter in 
Miss Vane, who felt that she had been trifled 
with. Greatly ruffled, her speech was no longer 
of love and lifelong intimacy. Far from it. She 
would never act with Paul again, who had be- 
haved abominably — thrown her out and made 
her forget her words — thrown up his part and 
then returned and walked on as if nothing had 
happened — ^without a word of apology — 

“I stuck to my text,’" said Paul, grimly. 

‘^ril never help you again at a pinch,” said 
Billinghurst. 

''Save me from my friends,” replied Pauk 

"You nearly spoilt the whole play.” 

"I am the play,” said Paul, unperturbed. 

Raggleston and von Deggendorf tried to make 
peace. 

"Absurd to quarrel,” urged Raggleston; "too 
childish. Never done. Kiss and be friends. I’ve 
always been curious to see the stage-kiss at close 
quarters.” 

Molly flounced off. 

"Tea is ready,” said the German. "They will 
dear the stage.” 

This argument was more successful. There 
298 


Behind 


was a general move and performers and public 
began to mingle 

Among the first over the footlights were Daisy, 
Lady Maud, and Miss Heimer, all in search of 
their men-folk. 

The millionairess created something of a stam- 
pede among her former suitors as she swept' 
across the boards. 

Paul, still close-wrapped in his impersonation, 
stood o. p. leaning on his cane, one hand high 
up on his waistcoat, one foot crossed over the 
other — defiant to man and irresistible to maid. 

'‘Mr. Arden, I presume,” said the fair Ameri- 
can. 

Shorn of his style, a shade of regret fell on 
him, but he bowed in assent. 

'T have to thank you for your good offices. 
As a matrimonial agent you are a vurry bright 
particular star, Mr. Arden. But your young 
men have not presented themselves to me, to 
date. Produce them, Mr. Arden.” 

Raggleston had been hiding behind a tree, but 
thoughtlessly leaning against it now nearly felled 
the grove. 

"Mr. Raggleston, you need not take to the 


299 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

woods. I am not looking for you with a gun, 
you are looking for me I should judge. You 
hoped to find me behind that goober-tree, did 
you not, now? Mr. Raggleston on a quest! 
Fancy ! You are up a tree, but you don’t appear 
to be on the stump. You are not conversational. 
I pause for a reply. Your ideas don’t exactly 
bubble forth, Mr. Raggleston.” 

The fiery suitor of ten days past was an uncom- 
fortable and shuffling spectacle, desperately en- 
gaged, as he afterwards put it, in clawing himself 
off a lee shore ; but his seamanship would never 
have saved him, he confessed, had not the storm 
centre shifted, and Billinghurst, convoying Molly 
to the refreshment tables in a favouring breeze, 
been taken aback and brought up all standing. 

^'And Lord Billinghurst. You do surprise me. 
If you had brought that moo-stash to bear on 
me in my unattached condition, I should have 
succumbed to the first smile. And you’ve lost 
your way too ? But I do appreciate your delicacy 
in getting a substitute for the last act. You will 
explain all, will you not ?” She stretched her glov- 
ed hands in dramatic entreaty, and Billinghurst, 
anathematising the quest, and the tell-tale Baron, 


Behind 


and wincing from the stony British stare of Molly 
to the impassioned gaze of the Heimer, stood 
between the Amazons wishing himself back be- 
tween the swords. ‘‘Von Deggendorf/’ he stam- 
mered. 

And Herr von Deggendorf, who had shown 
signs of uneasiness and disapproval, now sought 
to interrupt. 

“Julius, one word and you go home to bed this 
instant minute. You are not to agitate your- 
self/’ 

But the German who is reared in submission 
to man does not submit himself to woman. Ig- 
noring her protest, he bowed ceremoniously to 
the company and delivered himself of momentous 
matter. “I have the honour to dell you that I 
have been engaged — heimlich verlobt — to the 
Fraulein Heimer this two month. But it is now 
no longer zecret.” 

“Sold again, Jack!” cried Billinghurst, de- 
lighted. “I congratulate you, von Deggendorf! 
Forgive us. Miss Heimer! Two months — it is 
you who have trifled with our affections.” 

Miss Heimer smiled brilliantly and smoothed 
the glove on her stretched wrist. 


301 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

‘‘Julius, you have disobeyed me. But make 
the most of your liberty. Yes. I marry Julius 
in September and we cross in the fall. Mr. Rag- 
gleston has already issued the invitations, I un- 
derstand, so we shall hope to see you.’' 

Raggleston was inclined to take his reverses 
hard, as was his wont, but Daisy, who had come 
up in time for the announcement, urged him to 
civilities. Miss Heimer^ of whose good nature 
Daisy had made an easy conquest at the first 
glance, took him back into grace on the spot, 
“though I should have been vurry seriously an- 
noyed with you if you had spoiled his beauty/* 
she said. 

The embarrassed swordsman was glad to fall 
back on his old adversary, and drawing him 
aside Paul and Billinghurst joined them, eager 
to ply the German with questions. 

“It was a nothing,” said the Freiherr. 

“It was several inches,” said Raggleston, with 
conviction, but under his breath 

“I thought you were killed,” said Billinghurst, 
“you lay so deuced still.” 

“I haf thought so too,” said the Freiherr, pla- 


303 


Behind 


cidly. knew not, but I lay sdill in the case 
that I was moch hurt. It was better so.” 

They congratulated him on his presence of 
mind, but pressed for details. It appeared that 
the point had glanced obliquely across his very 
well-nourished chest. Raggleston was right as 
to the penetration, but wrong as to the direction. 
As Arden had said, he had bled very effectively, 
and his condition, and his care for himself, had 
impressed Lord Horsham. But the wound once 
dressed had healed rapidly. 

Arden and Raggleston gazed on him with 
thankfulness, but with a certain soreness all the 
same. Their feelings had been played with. He 
might have let them down with a perforation 
of the intercostal spaces, or at least a touch of 
septicaemia. But after all it was the double- 
faced and double-dyed schemer Billinghurst who 
should pay. They engaged themselves to dine 
with him, Arden to name the hostel, Raggleston 
the wine, and Billinghurst to foot the bill merrily 
all the way to the small hours. 

They were broken in upon by Lord Horsham, 
who appeared at Paul’s elbow stirring a cup of 
tea. 


303 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

''Delighted to meet you on your native heath, 
Lord Beauclerk,'' he said, with a grave inclina- 
tion and a glint in his eye. "Had I known that 
I was entertaining a man of your lordship’s 
quality in my poor house you should have been 
treated with more consideration. But I trust 
that you were comfortable at the Paddocks.” 

Paul, out of countenance at last, was grateful 
when Lady Maud put in — 

"Of course he was. Would you reflect on 
his hostess ?” 

"You certainly sped the parting guest, however 
you welcomed him,” said her father, raking the 
circle from under his brows over the rim of his 
cup. "But whom have we here ?” he said, staring 
at his son — "a twin Antipholus? Is this your 
dissolute foster-brother — the mythical Arden — 
West’s find? A most abandoned looking scamp ! 
No doubt the villain of the piece?” 

Billinghurst stared sulkily at Raggleston, who 
gazed coolly back, quite convinced by now that 
he was more sinned against than sinner. 

"Well, will no one enlighten me? Who got 
through your ard, von Deggendorf?” 


304 


Behind 

''Niemandr replied tlie German, promptly, ‘'if 
my foot haf not slip — ’’ 

Lord Horsham laughed and turned away, but 
Billinghurst had not done with his relatives. 
Lady Theodosia faced him with some severity, 
and her opening words commanded attention 
from all: 

“Well, Mr. Beauclerk,” she said, “or whatever 
your name may be, I suppose I must forgive you 
for the sake of your sister — for I have taken a 
great liking to her. And I don’t mind telling 
you in confidence that I wish my nephew would 
do the same, for his taste is to be deplored.” 

His movement of violent impatience should 
have opened the good lady’s eyes, but the truth 
was that they were fixed on Miss Vane, who 
was exhibiting herself to some enthusiastic 
friends further up the stage. 

“Herbert Spencer,” she pursued, with more 
than the calmness of all the proprietary right 
to a hearing, of the platform orator as the de- 
lighted circle closed in — “Herbert Spencer has 
pointed out that hunting animals have the eyes 
placed in front, the hunted at the sides of the 


305 


Helen of Troy, N. Y. 

head. That this is not the case in man and 
woman refutes the popular notion that man in- 
variably pursues and that woman invariably flees. 
But when the sidelong glance is an advantage in 
the chase it will reappear — and I have never seen 
this better exemplified than in the case of that 
young woman with the milking stool under her 
arm. Her eye is working round.’’ 

Violently tearing off his wig and moustache, 
and dashing his eyeglass on the boards. Lord 
Billinghurst stalked away to the dressing-rooms. 

Raggleston, awakened to adverse schemes in a 
world he had always looked upon as his oyster, 
returned to Daisy. 

The Freiherr, whose convalescence cried in- 
sistently for nourishment, could hold out no 
longer. Leaning his big body over Lady Theo- 
dosia’s hand, arrested in mid-gesture, he hooked 
it under his arm. ''Permit that I gif you some 
dea or goffee,” he said. 

Speechless, she was led away. 

Lady Maud and Paul lingered, looking across 
the footlights down the empty hall. 

^Whafs to really he?'' quoted Lady Maud, 
306 


Behind- 


with enthusiasm. “A clear stage and a crowd to 
seer 

“The crowd is unnecessary,” said Paul Arden. 

THE END 


307 





























NINE POINTS OF THE LAW 


BY 

WILFRID S. JACKSON 


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humourous story.” 

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most original little story.” 

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characters reminds one of Thackeray,” 

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only an occasional departure into farce — a capital example of 
English humour.” 


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